Some Other Me (Only Us Rewritten)
by ThexInvisiblexGirl
Summary: A decade or so after Rent: She is back in Manhattan on Christmas. He has never left. Against all odds, they meet again. A rewrite to an old fic of mine.
1. Chapter One

**A/N: ****_Only Us_ started as a oneshot I posted on Christmas Eve 2005, but then it quickly became an actual story and even had a sequel to follow. I haven't written anything new in ages but I really wanted to get back to writing, and what better way to do so than upgrade an old story I have grown so attached to? If they can do it on movies and TV, I can do it with fanfiction, hopefully with better results. I've changed the title to allow this new story to stand on its own, and borrowed it from the wonderful _If/Then_. POVs alternate (Maureen is odd chapters, Mark is even chapters) - feedback is still most welcome.**

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**Some Other Me (Only Us Rewritten )**

**Chapter One**

**December, 2004**

Manhattan had never looked so beautiful. It felt like being inside a greeting card. Snowflakes were softly falling upon cars and yellow cabs, passersby, businessmen in dark suits and children in colorful winter coats along with their parents. No one seemed to care much about it. It was almost Christmas, after all. If it was not snowing on Christmas time, when would it?

She snuggled into her coat and nodded goodbye to the doorman, then went out to the street, turning into 42nd street towards the ever-chaotic Times Square. It seemed pointless to even try and hail a taxi; she would have to walk. She glanced at her high heeled boots dubiously, fretfully, then bit her lip and joined in the throng, as fast as she dared. But even trying to remain steady on the wet pavement wasn't enough of a distraction. A shiver ran through her, but not as a result of the biting cold. It was all too familiar; the sights, the sounds, the snow… Why was it so difficult to let go of the past after all these years?

It was snowing when she left over a decade ago, as well. She remembered it all as though it had happened yesterday. During that funeral in November she made her decision. She had enough. She was done with death, done with this heartache that came with it and made everything seem numb. She had to move on, move away, or it was sure to pull her under. So she left without telling anyone. She spent many days on the road before she decided on her final destination. The City of Angels; just because it sounded right. She sent her friends a postcard that said _I'm fine. Just needed to jump over the moon. MJ_. No return address.

She worked hard for the fresh start she had been yearning for. Since complete detachment from the stage turned out to be impossible for her, she went from audition to audition, eventually landing herself small roles in seedy theaters downtown. In one production, where the total of her lines was even gloomier than the show itself, she befriended the costume manager and spent most of her time in his makeshift office backstage. It was like discovering a new world; this new field she had always taken for granted fascinated her. When her contract ended on the show, the costume manager hired her as an apprentice for his next production, and the rest was history.

Her newly discovered passion was an awakening of sorts. It sustained her affinity to the performing arts while offering a new view on it, one which marked her growing up. Eventually she settled in San Francisco, with a junior role in the costume department of a respected local theatre, until she was finally assigned a senior role just several months later. She loved the challenges her job offered, and the fact she could bring so much of herself into it. Most of all, though, she loved the distraction. This was what she had most wanted, after all; a way to escape the past. But then Libby came storming into her life, and with the extra responsibilities her new position required, the job seemed even more demanding. She hardly had time for herself, let alone time to spend with Libby, but she couldn't complain. At least she had a steady job that allowed her to live well and pay the rent.

While her job was somewhat less bleak than many, routine was routine; once it inevitably kicked in, one day it dawned on her that she had become another woman in a fancy suit, like those they were always mocking when they bumped into them on the subway. One of these normal, ordinary women. It was so unlike her, to succumb to the routine of life, but she assumed it was a part of growing up. She used to wonder every now and then if they were different now, as well. Were they even alive? She didn't know. She wasn't sure she wanted to. But every time that question invaded her thoughts, she realized that no matter how far she had attempted to go, there was no way to fully detach herself from them, from the memories they all shared. Friendship _was_ thicker than blood, it appeared. She used to think of it as nothing but a childish cliché.

And now she was back in Manhattan. It was one of her obligations as a newly-promoted costume manager. The theater she had worked for was part of an organization which owned several theaters in town. Once a year, senior members of various departments had to travel to the organization's headquarters in Manhattan, at the heart of the theater district, for various conventions in their field, an advanced study of sorts. The previous year, she was forced to work overtime in order to replace her superior during his absence. This year, she was the one leaving an intern behind, and she had done so with great reluctance. Two and a half weeks seemed like the longest time, but there was no getting away with it. Besides, Libby had never been to New York. That alone was a good reason to return.

Even though the theater district wasn't the part of town she had mostly occupied back in the day, she could already feel how the city sucked her right back in. Like this giant organism, it was feeding off her energy. The locals seemed used to this intensity their city was exuding. Now an outsider, she felt totally drained just two days into her arrival. It had nothing to do with the work she had come here to do; this was exhaustion of a completely different sort.

She walked swiftly up Broadway, heading towards the hotel. The last session ended earlier than anyone had expected, but she didn't stick around to mingle. It was late afternoon, which meant she could still spend some time with Libby. They could go see the city lights from the top of the Empire State Building, if the weather allowed, or venture into Saks or Tiffany's on 5th avenue. Libby had already expressed her resentment about her spending too much time at work. They were so much alike, it was scary sometimes. She was used to be the one making people do her bidding with a pout and huge imploring eyes, not the other way around.

The snow felt nice, brushing against her cheeks, melting into her hair. It was rarely snowing on the West Coast, initially one of her reasons to settle there. She had associated the snow with unbearable pain, and yet she missed it more than she realized. And did it even help? Did the distance she had put between her and this city resolve everything, or did it make matters worse? Was she a better person now than the one she had been over a decade ago? She wanted to believe that she was, but was she, really?

Amidst all the doubts and uncertainties, she was sure of one thing. Libby had made her better. For the first time in her life she felt compelled to change for someone, in a way she had never done before. It was difficult at times, especially because she had to give up on so much, things she had always believed made her who she was, but with time she came to understand they did not define her.

The snow was falling more heavily now, making it impossible to see the road ahead. She rushed forward to find cover underneath the awning of a brightly lit window. Well, that ruled out the Empire State Building, she thought grimly. Brushing some stray snowflakes off her coat, she realized she was standing at the entrance of a gallery. She looked back at the street, where the snow was piling, then hurriedly walked in, the promise of heat and shelter lingering behind its closed doors.

There weren't many people inside, which was probably a result of the hour and worsening weather. The space wasn't huge, and yet she took her time walking slowly from wall to wall, carefully observing each and every photo behind its frame. She had always enjoyed art, especially photography; her job had given her an eye for details. And the person who took these photos was exceptionally good. There was something poignant and yet soft and sentimental, even familiar, in the photos. They were polished and professional-looking, and yet there was rawness to them, which stirred something deep inside her. As she stood there staring at one of them, she could barely breathe.

"This one is my favorite too."

She turned abruptly, and her eyes met the bright eyes of an unfamiliar young woman in jeans and a dark sweater. Her reddish hair was pulled back in a messy bun. "It really is beautiful," she agreed, feeling rather lame. The compliment didn't do the photo justice. "Is this your gallery?"

The young woman chuckled softly. "No, are you kidding? I can barely get the squirrels in Central Park to pose for me. I'm just helping a friend of mine run it."

"I get that. I'm not great with cameras myself." She'd been teased endlessly about her loving to appear on cameras rather than hide behind them, back in the day. It almost felt like another life, now; like some other her. She knew she should make use of her early escape from work to get back to the hotel; that the longer she'd linger at the gallery, the less time she'd get to spend with Libby, but she couldn't bring herself to leave just yet. "Your friend is very talented."

"Almost annoyingly so, right?" said the stranger, rolling her eyes, but with a small affectionate smile. It was quite nice to see such a display of camaraderie. "He had to leave early today for a meeting downtown. He should be here tomorrow though, if you're interested to hear his interpretation on some of those. He can get chatty about his projects, but you'll get some great firsthand insight."

"Maybe I'll stop by, thanks." She didn't even know why she had said it. She was interested in photography, but the following day was going to be a busy one with three meetings back to back, possibly even a business dinner. She doubted she would be able to take the time to return just for the sake of meeting the person who took all those photos, as wonderful as they were.

Soon enough, though, she forgot all about the encounter at the gallery. It was way after midnight when she made it to bed that night after spending much needed time with Libby. The next day was proven as hectic as she had predicted. She was getting dizzy with new names and faces, with new information and details to take in. But when her business dinner got cancelled, she couldn't help but think back about the stranger's offer. Before she could think better of it, she was already walking up Broadway, retracing her steps from the previous day. When she finally stopped to catch her breath at the entrance of the gallery, for a moment she couldn't even understand how she got there.

The woman that was there the day before wasn't anywhere to be seen. It was early evening, nearly twilight, and so the place was teeming with visitors. The tiny space was crowded and slightly stifling, and the babble of multiple conversations around her was making her disoriented. She preferred the place as she had found it the previous day. She could barely focus on the photos with this constant noise wrapping around them.

And then it felt as though it all went silent, all at once. She stopped dead on her tracks and stared.

He was standing across the room, in the middle of a heated discussion with two other men. He wasn't exceptionally taller than the rest of the people around, and it was a moment before it dawned on her that wasn't the reason he had stood out for her. Rather, it was his glasses that caught her attention, and his blonde hair.

She was almost surprised that she was surprised. Of course he would be here, a room full of photographs. But what were the odds? After all this time, the two of them, in the exact same place? Should she go there and say hi? Would he even remember her? What if he didn't? Which of the two was worse? There were too many questions, too many wonders, but as she had so often done, she decided to just trust her instincts. He wouldn't make a scene in front of all these strangers... or at least she hoped so.

His voice sounded slightly deeper now, more mature, but she recognized it instantly regardless. She knew it would be rude to just interrupt his conversation like she was about to do, but she just had to, or she'd lose her nerve.

"Mark."

He turned around instinctively, as one would do at the sound of one's name. The spark in his eyes was quickly replaced with the shock of recognition as their eyes met. "_Maureen?_"

She nodded and offered him a weak smile. "Hi."

"How did you... What are you doing here?"

She giggled nervously, feeling self-conscious by his astonished expression. "That depends, how much time have you got?"

He just stared at her for a second longer, then seemed to remember his friends, who were watching the exchange curiously. He didn't seem to realize they were awaiting an explanation, or an introduction. He had offered none, and she didn't feel comfortable enough to provide one. "Sorry, Greg, Michael, do you guys mind..."

"Don't worry about it, Cohen. Let's meet up for drinks at our place after Christmas, yeah?"

"Sure thing." He shook hands with them and they left, glancing at her from over their shoulders as they moved further into the crowd. He lingered another moment, then shrugged and wordlessly led her to a small bench nearby. He waited for her to sit down before taking a seat next to her.

They fell into an awkward silence, just observing each other. He was wearing different glasses now, with a dark blue frame, which had done little to give his youthful face a more grownup air. His hair was almost golden in the soft overhead light. Even his clothes looked different, and yet exactly the same. He had definitely left behind those thrift stores he had frequented in the past, but the style was pretty much unchanged. The bench was covered with dark blue velvet; she ran her finger absentmindedly against the soft fabric just for something to do. "You look… different," he said eventually.

Another woman in a fancy suit. "You look the same."

He laughed, almost despite himself. "Is that good or bad?"

"I don't know. Is different good or bad?"

"I'm not sure, you're…" He let his voice trail; his cheeks colored ever so slightly. It was as if he couldn't decide whether this was real or not, and she really couldn't blame him. This was so surreal, she was having a hard time believing it herself.

"Do you still live here?"

"Yeah. Never left. You?"

"No, I live in San Francisco now. I'm in town for two weeks or so, for work." It sounded so unbelievably boastful and even phony in a way. She sounded like a stranger, even to her own ears. There was no wonder he was cocking his eyebrow at her skeptically.

"Maureen Johnson, in town on business?"

"I'm afraid so," she chuckled darkly, and a bit sheepishly.

"What is it you do, then?"

"I'm in theater. Surprise surprise," she laughed at the sight of his expression.

"You're not an actress," he half said, half asked, as though furiously trying to think if he should have known that, if he should have heard of her somewhere.

"No, I prefer to hang out backstage in old age." He rolled his eyes at that; there was some comfort in the familiarity of the motion. "I'm a senior costume manager at a theater back home."

He seemed impressed; an involuntary pang of pride filled her at his approval. "That sounds just right for you."

"How about you? You're still filming?"

"Yeah, pretty much." She actually knew that. Every now and again she saw his name mentioned in various art sections in local magazines, credited for some independent film or other he had directed. Though she had never fully read those articles, she always felt proud when she caught those references. He deserved to be acknowledged for his hard work. She was glad he got on the right track at last. This was what he had always wanted to do, after all.

"How did you get here?"

"I literally just walked by. It's halfway between my hotel and where most of my meetings take place." She shook her head, still amazed by the coincidence. "I was just looking for a place to hide from the snow the other day. Is the photographer a friend of yours by the way?" It suddenly occurred to her this might be the reason he was there in the first place.

"Why do you ask?" he asked with a shadow on a smile on his lips.

"Just interested, I guess."

"Do you like his work?"

She looked around her. The number of visitors thinned significantly. It helped reminding her what she had found so mesmerizing about the gallery in the first place. "I do, very much. It's sort of like... they're all familiar. Like I've seen them all before somehow." He nodded wordlessly, still grinning, as though waiting for her to figure out something insanely obvious. And a moment later it hit her. Of course. She gasped as realization filled her, then eyed him in shock. "This is _your_ gallery?"

"Yes, it is."

It shouldn't come as such a big surprise. He was a successful director already; obviously everything else was only a matter of time. And it was about time other people would enjoy that intense, raw talent of his. She glanced at him and caught him looking at her. He blushed ever so slightly but didn't look away.

"Are you in touch with the rest of the guys?" It was a blunt change of subjects, but she was desperate to break the awkwardness of the moment. She found herself waiting impatiently for his reply. She did miss all of them, she realized, even after all this time, all her failing attempts to let go of her past.

Mark shook his head. "Not really," he said, and his face wore a somber expression. "They're all gone."

The words hit her much harder than she could have ever imagined. The last time she had seen them was several days after Mimi's funeral, the day that had become the turning point of her new life. Well, the first out of many, that is.

She looked at him sorrowfully but said nothing, taking in the shadow that suddenly took over the blue of his eyes. "Collins passed away five years ago. Roger… he died last Christmas."

She couldn't help but pity him as she heard the pain in his voice. He had to endure what she had managed to avoid. He watched them all go. She imagined how horrible it must have been for him, losing them all like this, one after the other, especially Roger, who had been his best friend. "I'm sorry," she said eventually, but knowing nothing she said would ever be enough.

"It's a bit late to be sorry now, isn't it?"

The question, obviously one he had not expected her to reply, caught her off-guard. The accusation it carried was so unlike the Mark she used to know. And yet, the worst part was that deep down, she knew he was right. She should have been there with them. She shouldn't have fled. But that didn't mean she regretted the life she had made for herself, not for a second. She shouldn't let him fill her with guilt just because he was hurting. "Mark, it's been too many years, I'm not going to apologize – "

"I used to resent you for leaving us to deal with this shit alone." Despite the fact he cut her off so abruptly, his voice softened. "We were worried sick about you. We couldn't track you; you didn't tell us where the hell you were going. We knew you were in LA by the stamp on that postcard you sent, but everywhere we looked was a dead end. So we gave up on you, just as you gave up on us."

His expression was torturous, as though he was reliving the memory. That made her feel a bit selfish; but this was who she was back then, impulsive. She didn't really stop to consider the consequences as she left.

"But then there were other times, especially after we lost Collins, when I thought… maybe I should have done the same." He paused, as if fearing he had said too much. Then, shaking his head, he asked, "How's Joanne? Are you two still…?"

Oh, talking about ancient history. She laughed softly. "Joanne dumped me over a decade ago. I haven't heard from her since." It happened a couple of weeks before Mimi died, when they all spent hours at the hospital by her bedside. But Mark couldn't know that; she had never told any of them.

"Oh. Sorry," he said quietly, avoiding her gaze as if embarrassed by his petty nosiness.

When she managed to catch his eye, she smiled reassuringly. "Don't. It's fine." Joanne was definitely part of the past; one of many other lovers, male and female, she had had since then. Her eyes then wandered to his hands in his lap. "You're not married," she said, noticing he wasn't wearing any ring. It came out more as a statement than a question. She didn't even realize she had asked it aloud at first until he blinked with puzzlement, and his gaze followed hers.

"Oh, yeah, I…" He chuckled. "I guess I've never found the time."

"I always assumed you'd be the first of us to get married."

He shrugged in mock-apology. "Sorry to ruin it for you," he said, then looked at her inquiringly. "How about you?" It was asked only halfheartedly, as if he believed he knew the answer.

"Divorced." He tried not to look stunned, but she could tell he wasn't expecting it. She grinned. "Sorry to ruin it for _you_."

"Were you married long?"

"For about a year, until I saw him for who he really was." That was putting it mildly, but it was a long story, and that was hardly the place for it. Besides, Mark was always too polite to stick his nose in other people's business anyway.

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Don't be. Marrying him in the first place was pretty stupid." It was the first time she admitted that out loud, and it wasn't as bad as she'd feared. Then, without realizing she was asking it aloud, "Can I see you again?"

He hesitated, glancing at her a bit fretfully. "Why?"

She looked at him honestly, trying not to fall too deep into his eyes. They seemed different to her now; still mesmerizing blue, but less dreamy, more down-to-earth. He had been through a lot. "I missed you." She thought about what he told her a moment ago. They're all gone. There's only us, she suddenly realized.

He seemed hesitant. It almost looked as if he was thinking of ways to reject her nicely. But she couldn't possibly let it go. They met after all those years, both happening to be at the same place on the same time; it had to mean something. If you believed in that sort of stuff. And she was nothing if not a believer.

She took one of her business cards out of her purse and handed it to him. "Here. That's my card. I'm leaving after New Year, but if you're ever at the West Coast…" Her voice trailed with silent invitation, wordless hope.

Mark gently took the card from her and examined it. "You made a long way," he said quietly, looking back at her.

"I think we both have," she replied. Before she could think better of it, she leaned over and laid a kiss on his lips, then pulled away, not even giving him a chance to kiss back.

He didn't look completely shocked, just a bit surprised. Pink returned to his cheeks. "What was that for?"

She smiled, feeling new confidence, and stood up. "Just… for old times' sake." She stopped herself from tousling his hair like she used to do in the past. "Goodbye, Mark."

She didn't wait for his reply. The old version of her would have done it so she could say the final word, have her grand exit. Her actual motive was quite different now, and rather cowardly. If he never wanted to see her again, she'd rather not hear him say that. Maybe it was for the best, she told herself as she traded the warmth of the gallery with the chill of the bustling street. It probably was. But she couldn't lie to herself; it made her quite upset.

"How about dinner tomorrow?"

She stopped abruptly and turned to find him at the entrance of the gallery, slightly out of breath. She blinked in surprise. She wasn't expecting him to hurry after her. He shrugged. "Just… for old times' sake."

She grinned as her own words echoed back at her. But then something else occurred to her, and her grin slowly faded. As much as she wanted to see him again, she knew it might complicate things. He must know the truth. She must tell him about Libby. "Mark, I want to be honest with you," she started hesitantly. Suddenly her mind went blank. Where would she even begin? "I'm kind of living with someone." Yeah, _that_ was very honest, she scolded herself.

Was that a hint of disappointment she detected in his eyes? It was so brief she couldn't be sure. "Will he mind you having dinner with an old friend?"

She smiled enigmatically, hating herself for it, but she felt almost compelled to tease him. "You're assuming it's a he?" It was worth it; he looked slightly flustered now. "It's not a he, and no, I don't think she'll mind." Much, she mentally added.

"How long have you been together?"

"It's been about five years."

"That's a long commitment, for you."

He sounded as though he couldn't help the comment, but at the same time feared she would take it the wrong way. She chuckled darkly. If only he knew. "I don't regret a second of it."

She was mentally going over her schedule for the following day. She had a meeting in the afternoon, but it was at a theater and surely it wouldn't last as late as showtime. And she'd handle Libby. She just wanted to spend as much time with him as she could before she'd have to leave. "Dinner tomorrow will be great," she said eventually. "The number of my cell phone is on the card. Give me a call tomorrow?"

He was still looking hesitant, as though the new information of her living with someone had put new doubts in his head. But then he shook his head, and finally relented. "Okay," he said. "Okay, I will."

She smiled. "Okay. I'll see you tomorrow then." She was about to leave again when she heard him calling after her.

"Maureen?"

"Yes?"

"I missed you too."

They shared another smile before she turned and resumed her swift walk up Broadway.

* * *

It was nearly 9PM when she arrived at the hotel. She didn't even realize it was so late until she caught sight of the bellboy's wrist watch at the elevator. She held back a yawn as she opened the door. It was warm inside the dimly lit suite. Although she had never liked hotel rooms, she found the warmth comforting, a sharp contrast to the freezing cold outside. She suspected it would be snowing again soon. For one moment only, the room felt almost like home.

"Maureen?" asked a female voice as she put her purse on a side table and took off her coat. A younger woman entered the living area of the suite, shaking her head. "That was one busy afternoon."

"I'm so sorry, I didn't think it would take so long. I'll pay you the extra hours, Robin, don't you worry about it."

"That's okay. I have no life," replied Robin, grinning wryly. "And I'm not here because you pay me, how many times do I have to remind you that?"

"We're not having this discussion again," she was hoping to sound assertive, but she knew she was fooling neither of them. "How was your day?"

"It was wonderful. We went to the skating rink at Rockefeller Center, it was a hoot. We had awesome cupcakes. We brought one back for you; I left it by your bed. It's banoffee, I heard it was your favorite. She really wanted to see you but she was worn out. Fell asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow."

"Sounds like fun. Here," she reached for her purse again and handed Robin some money. "Sorry I kept you so late. Get out of here, get some rest."

"See you tomorrow morning then?"

"Actually, I might need your help tomorrow night too if that's okay. I mean unless you've got other plans…"

"Told you. I've got no life. I'll be here."

"Great. Thanks, Robin."

"Hot date?" asked Robin with this naughty glimmer in her eyes.

She laughed, Mark's image filling her mind. Anything but that.

She was still standing there a long moment after Robin had left. She was lucky to find Robin. She was the niece of one of her colleagues, a student that happened to come home for Christmas and was looking for a job to pass the time. They got along marvelously from the moment they met, and even more importantly, Libby adored her. It seemed like the perfect arrangement for all of them while she was working.

She slipped off her boots with a sigh of relief, and left them on the floor as she made her way down the hall and into the bedroom.

A lamp on the nightstand gave the only light in the room, illuminating the figure that was sleeping soundly under the covers in the king sized bed. She smiled and watched her for a long moment from a safe distance at the doorway. She looked angelic in her sleep, so peaceful and innocent, her long dark hair falling softly against the pillows. It was moments like this one which reminded her why she had done everything the way she did. For the first time in her life, she wasn't acting for herself, but for someone else. It felt strange to realize that at first, but so right at the same time. But then, it worked the other way around, too. She wouldn't have gotten anywhere if it wasn't for Libby.

She smiled as she sat on the edge of the bed and watched her more closely. Moments like this caused all the doubts and second thoughts she had long ago to slowly wane. She was lucky to have her. They were lucky to have each other. She caressed her hair gently, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. What was she dreaming about? Did she know how much she meant to her? Did she even realize how much happiness she had brought into her life?

Libby's eyes fluttered open; her forehead cringed in the tiniest of frowns. "Mommy?"

"Shh… go to sleep, baby," she murmured, looking lovingly at her four-year-old. The little girl nodded and closed her eyes. Soon she was fast asleep again.

By the time she was ready for bed, she felt too alert to actually sleep. Her eyes fell on her nightstand; sure enough, the cupcake was there, as promised. The fact that Libby had made a point to pick out her favorite flavor made her smile. As the delicious frosting melted on her tongue, her thoughts drifted back to what occurred hours before, to the gallery, to Mark. He was right. She made a long way, but so did he. She told him he looked the same, but he had obviously changed as well. It had been over a decade since they had last seen one another, after all.

She wasn't sure why she gave him obscure hints about Libby instead of telling him about her outright. It wasn't because she was afraid of what he would think, because she'd never given a damn about what other people thought of her, even before she had Libby. And back then, anything seemed better than raising Libby with a man who had never wanted her in the first place. Besides, if she knew Mark as she thought she still did, it wouldn't even bother him. She'd tell him the next day, she decided, when he called. If he called.

She turned off the light and leaned back into the soft pillows. As if sensing her change of position, Libby turned on her other side to snuggle closer to her. She snuggled against her daughter in return and closed her eyes. Soon she was fast asleep as well. Outside, in the city that was once home to some of her happiest, but also her saddest memories, it was snowing again.


	2. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

By the time he woke up, the snow had ceased. Now Manhattan was waking, covered with a soft layer of frost, which the rising sun was slowly melting away. He slowly sipped his coffee, then leaned against the balcony railing, the chilly breeze leaving goosebumps on his skin. He looked ahead at the canopies of trees in Central Park West. He imagined the snowflakes on their lower branches glistening in the pale sunlight. For just a moment, he let memories take hold of him again. He tried to shut them out, but he could do little to resist them when they hit. It was always impossible to do so around the holiday season. Everything always seemed to go back to that far away day… December 24th, 9PM; when it all began. He could hardly believe it all happened over a decade ago.

As he stepped back into his apartment, locking the door to the balcony behind him, he replaced nostalgia with a more practical approach. He had a lot of work to do that day and he was already late. Taking his old leather messenger bag from the living room floor, he looked around him, and sighed warily. Whoever walked in there would think he had just moved in. The room had hardly any furniture except for a worn out leather sofa, some bookshelves, still mostly empty, a television and his photography equipment. Everything else was still packed in carton boxes that were spread across the bare hardwood floor. Boxes full of memories. The truth was that he had lived there for almost three months. The apartment on Columbus Avenue was a rare find, nestled between the Juilliard School and the Museum of Natural History, and within reasonable distance from the gallery. When he first moved in, he unpacked only the necessities. The rest, he figured, would follow. He had never found the time for it since.

As he had done often, he chose to walk to the gallery. On nicer weather he would ride his bicycle there. The subway was probably a faster way of getting there, but there was something in the crisp morning air that made him feel refreshed. His head was throbbing. He slept badly the previous night. This time, though, he could blame it on neither his work, nor past memories which came back to haunt him every now and again. Well, not exactly. It was a memory of a different sort this time. Just like years before, the source of his restless night, of his nagging thoughts, was… her.

It was still unbelievable to him, the way she had just shown up there, out of the blue, in the middle of his gallery. When she left all those years ago, he thought he'd never see her again. He still had her postcard somewhere, in one of the boxes on his living room floor. Sure, he had dozens of photos and films of her he had taken over the years, but somehow it was a more tangible piece of her; written in her own hand, an actual proof of her existence. He remembered finding it tucked inside the book Collins was reading before he died. The fact that Collins had it with him in his final moments indicated that he was still holding on to her, and so he and Roger worked tirelessly in order to locate her before his funeral. They thought she'd want to be there, to say goodbye to her friend, but they couldn't find her. He told himself it was her chance to regret leaving them so abruptly, to prove that she still cared, but she didn't take it. She didn't return. She had completely given up on them. And with that realization, he gave up on her as well. He kept the book – and the postcard in it – out of his sight. His nearly obsessive love for her was instinctively replaced with fury and resentment, but then it simply started to fade. She became nothing more than a memory. He had plenty of those. He had almost forgotten her.

And then she returned.

She was obviously different, he mused. The laugh lines on her face were the most prominent evidence to the inevitable passage of time. But she was still beautiful, more than he had allowed himself to remember. Her dark hair was less unruly, to name the most superficial difference; it seemed as tamed as the mature version of her. She dressed differently now, as well, and her makeup wasn't as crazy. But he suspected that the change in her was beyond external. She said she was in town for work, which was another unbelievable fact. She held a senior position at a theater, no less. He could feel his lips curl in a small involuntary smile. Who would have thought?

As he hurried down Broadway towards the gallery, he pondered over the sole question that occupied his thoughts from the moment he got home the previous night.

Should he call her?

He laughed in dismay when it dawned on him he had been through this before so many years ago, when the same beautiful girl wrote her phone number on his wrist in a crowded bar. It took him three days to muster enough courage and call her back then. Now, he knew, time was of the essence. She would be gone by New Year, and then who knew if he'd ever see her again. She said she had missed him and of course, he had missed her too, but did he really want to do the Tango Maureen all over again?

_I'm kind of living with someone… It's not a 'he'._ That should have been his first warning sign. He tried to tell himself it didn't actually mean anything, that it shouldn't bother him. Why would it? It was just dinner; he was the one suggesting it. He wasn't expecting it to lead to anything more, not after all this time. He surely wasn't expecting to fall back in love with her. But despite his past resentment towards her, at the end of the day, she was his friend. They shared a past and memories; they had history. He was just curious to know what she had been doing all this time. He was desperate for some closure.

The gallery was still dark as he walked in, as it didn't open before eleven, but there was light coming from the end of the hallway. He took off his coat and entered the back room. A woman raised her head from a large notebook, and smiled as their eyes met.

"Merry Christmas, Cohen," she greeted.

He frowned. "Happy Chanukah, Horowitz." He turned his back on her so he could pour himself coffee; his second mug within an hour. Maybe that would ease his headache.

"I thought we said half passed eight," she told him with a hint of accusation in her tone. It was only then he remembered that they had meant to go over the account books together. Shit. "Have you overslept again?"

For a split second, he was speechless by her bossiness. Then he chuckled, rolling his eyes at her. "I'm sorry, next time I'll bring a note from my mother," he retorted, hanging his coat on a rack in the corner.

"You party hard, Cohen," she teased him, ducking just in time against the mitten he had tossed in her direction.

He met Tammy Horowitz when he was referred to a bereavement counselor after Collins had died. It took a colleague to make him aware of the option – he had never seen himself as someone who would seek counseling or even admit to having a problem, but he was in a seriously bad place. Tammy seemed too young for the job. She was his age, and he was in such bad shape that he hit on her right from the getgo. It turned out she was brilliant at her role, but after a few sessions he asked for replacement because their conversations were turning friendlier, and that seemed to contradict the whole point. Afterwards he stopped going to counseling altogether; having Tammy around on an unofficial basis was supportive enough.

Once the nature of their acquaintance changed, they actually did date once or twice before they reached the mutual realization it would never work. They were just too much alike, and not in a way that makes a relationship bloom. She was the coolest person he knew; he could never have enough of her stories of volunteering in an Israeli Kibbutz. He had never known a person like her. Tammy had become his closest friend, especially after Roger died. He could never have gone through that dark time without her by his side. He would have needed a lot more medication than the ones he'd already been on. He was lucky to have her. She was sharp, funny and sarcastic, and she always seemed to know what was on his mind, even when he didn't say anything.

When the concept of the gallery became an actual possibility, Tammy was the only person he could think of to financially manage it. Math was her passion, and he was too awful with numbers to really know his way around. Their schedules were coordinated to perfection – whether he had to teach or she had a session with a patient, they always had each other's back. They worked well together; it was the most harmonious relationship he had ever had with a colleague.

They chatted some more about the gallery as he finished his coffee. He listened to her story about an odd couple that visited there the previous day while he was away, but couldn't really concentrate. His thoughts were constantly wandering back to the previous evening's events. To call or not to call, that is the quest –

"Something is bothering you," said Tammy all of a sudden. He blinked, suddenly realizing she was looking at him oddly, waiting for his answer on something she had said, and he didn't even hear. "What is it?"

"Nothing is bothering me, why would you think that?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "After all this time, do you really think you can fool me, Cohen? Come on, let me guess," she snatched his empty coffee mug and peered inside.

He stared at her in disbelief. As far as he knew, she had scorned anything non-scientific. "Since when you do that?"

"There are some things you still don't know about me," she replied mysteriously.

He chuckled; he couldn't help it. The way she had said it reminded him of Maureen all of a sudden. "I'm pretty sure it's originally done with tea leaves – "

She raised her arm, which instantly shut him up. "Too much talking, let's see if I can figure it out."

He grumbled a bit, but soon enough sighed with resignation, knowing better than arguing with her. He sat across from her and watched, half attentive, half skeptic, as she looked inside the mug in concentration.

"Hmm. I see… a woman." She looked up, cocking an eyebrow at him. He mirrored the motion, struggling to keep on a poker face. Tammy shrugged, and leaned over the mug again. "Her face isn't at all clear... I'm guessing dark haired, not very tall, pretty eyes? That seems to be your type, doesn't it?"

"I'm supposed to be taking you seriously if _you're_ waiting for _my_ confirmation?"

He didn't mean it rhetorically, but Tammy didn't bother to reply. She could barely hide her content at his engagement. "Well, maybe her face isn't clear, but I can definitely see her name."

"Her name," he echoed skeptically.

Her eyes didn't leave the bottom of the mug; she stared at it with utter concentration. "Ah-huh. Looks like it… starts with an M… Miranda… No… Marianna… no, wait, that's not it… Mo… Maureen… Johnson."

He couldn't do much, but stare at her jaw-dropped. How on earth did she do that?

As if noticing the astonishment in his expression, she smirked. "Don't give me that look, Cohen, just answer these two questions. The first is when the hell did you meet a woman you never told me about and the second, when are you going to call her?"

She was waving a small piece of paper in front of him. It looked kind of familiar. He snatched the card from her hand mid-wave, feeling ridiculous for the sudden pounding of his heart. It's not like she found porn in your office, you loser, he scolded himself. "Where did you find that?"

"It was here, on the keyboard." There wasn't even a hint of guilt in her voice. There was this teasing glint in her eyes. He cringed at his own stupidity. It was almost as if he wanted to get caught.

"I guess I should have seen this coming."

"So are you going to tell me who she is or what?"

"Knowing you, you won't let it go until I do."

"Exactly. So you better do it out of your free will." Their gazes locked, hers as unrelenting as his. He sighed, giving up. A lazy, satisfied grin curled on her lips. She leaned back and crossed her arms. "When did you meet her?"

"Yesterday, right after you left."

"Is she pretty?"

He smiled. It was unlike Tammy to ask such a thing right off the bat. "Yes. Your description is pretty much spot on, actually."

"Obviously, Marky. I seem to know your type better than you do. Our age? Single?"

"Our age. Divorced," he replied briefly, mostly because it was all he actually knew. He didn't question her about it because, well, it was none of his business. And to be honest, it caught him completely off-guard because it was so unlike her. He knew there must be more to the story than she had let on.

"Is she blind? A serial killer? Temporarily insane?"

Now, those questions were more like the Tammy he'd known. "No… why would you ask that?"

"Because, Cohen, I'm trying to figure out why the hell she hit on _you_, which I assume happened as _she_ gave _you_ her card and not the other way around."

It seemed pointless to contradict her. That didn't mean he wasn't entitled to make her feel just a teensy bit guilty, though. "Oh, thanks very much! That's very sweet of you to say. Like I don't feel pathetic enough without your generous help."

"Didn't we have this agreement, to marry each other if we're both single at 40?"

"There's still some time before this pressing deadline, and may I remind you that it was you who suggested this so-called agreement in Aaron and Rachel's wedding while you were drunk?"

She had that thoughtful expression on, but only for a second. Then she looked at him, dead serious. "Maybe we should consider it. I mean, we can't get more hopeless as it is. It will surely make our parents happy. Two birds, one stone," she concluded, chuckling darkly, then looked at him. He braced himself against her businesslike expression. "So you say a pretty woman walked in here, hit on you, and gave you her business card out of her own free will."

"I've never said – " he tried to protest.

"Don't be a downer, Mark, let me have my fun!"

"What I mean is, I didn't just meet her yesterday."

Now she looked slightly confused. "Oh?"

"I thought I told you this before. Years ago, she's the one who..."

"...dumped you for another woman?" she completed with sudden realization.

He buried his face in his hands and groaned. She made it sound so pitiful, impossibly more pitiful than it already was. "Gee, you sure know how to boost a guy's ego, don't you?"

"Well, it _is_ her, right? I remember it now. She was the girl who broke your heart over a decade ago, the one you couldn't stop talking about during our first session even though I told you that's completely irrelevant to the matter at hand."

"_What_? I didn't – "

"Denial is the first stage, Marky," she cut him off shamelessly, not even cowering under the vicious glare he had attempted to send her way. "And I now remember you kept mentioning her during our first date, as well. Maureen this and Maureen that, you wouldn't shut up about it. I remember thinking, gosh, this girl really messed him up."

"What are you talking about? I was over her then and I _am_ over her right now!"

"Didn't you say she had skipped town? What is she doing back in New York?" she asked, picking up the card he had left on the desk at some point. She examined it for a moment, then looked up at him. "That's a San Francisco area code."

"Yeah, I know, Sherlock. She mentioned it yesterday. She's here for a work thing... I'm not really sure. And then yesterday she was suddenly here."

"Specifically looking for you?"

"No, it didn't seem like she knew I'd be here. It was kind of strange actually."

He knew he would never forget the first moment their eyes made contact, the second it dawned on him who she was. He was feeling so many things at once, it was overwhelming. Then there was that awkward moment, right after he told her Collins and Roger were gone. She seemed genuinely upset, and for just one moment, he was glad that it hurt her. Served her right, he thought, for turning her back on them, for showing care and interest only after it was too late. It was probably childish of him, but he couldn't help it. Then again, vindictiveness wasn't in his nature. Soon enough he was too taken by their conversation to even remember he had vowed to shut her out of his life for good. It was what he found in her eyes that was most memorable; happiness, contentment, serenity. The result of distancing herself from it all, most likely. And it might have worked the same way on him, too, if only… but now it was too late for if only's and what if's.

"You should call her, you know," said Tammy all of a sudden. He blinked; he sort of forgot she was sitting across from him, that his voice trailed mid-conversation as his mind drifted to the previous evening again. Did she ask him something? For a moment he wasn't sure.

"Sorry, what?"

"Call her. Think about it, Mark. She walked into this gallery, completely by chance, years and years after you've last seen her. What are the odds for something like that to happen? If that's not a sign from God, I don't know what is."

He cocked an eyebrow at her conviction. "I thought you didn't believe in God."

"Whether it's God or Cupid or whoever else who might be up there watching you, it's a sign. And you shouldn't ignore it. Give her a call."

"Okay. Fine. I will. Not right now, though, we've got a busy morning ahead." She cocked an eyebrow as though waiting for something. He groaned, knowing what she wanted to hear. "Fine, because I was late. I'm sorry."

"That's alright, Marky. I love you for your imperfections." She smiled smugly at him; he couldn't do much but roll his eyes at her. She shoved the notebook a bit in his direction. "Right! Shall we dive in, then?"

* * *

That afternoon he made the reluctant journey to Macy's downtown. The thought of going in there so close to Christmas was enough to bring on an anxiety attack, but he didn't have a choice. He was supposed to visit his mother in Scarsdale the upcoming weekend for a family dinner for Chanukah, and he wanted to get her something nice. Ever since his father had died a couple of years back, he slowly rebuilt his relationship with his mother. Sure, there was always Cindy who lived down the street and could keep an eye on her whenever needed, but the truth was that he had missed his mother. They always got along pretty well. It was his father who disapproved of everything he ever tried to be good at. But with him gone, everything seemed a lot easier.

As expected, the enormous department store was teeming with visitors, locals and tourists alike. For some, it was just a refuge from the snow that had started falling again. For others, a source of entertainment for their obviously bored children. Some, mostly men, seemed to have the same problem he had. He wandered aimlessly among the floors for a while, debating whether to get his mother a vase or a scarf and wondering where the hell to find either of those, all the while calculating what would be the fastest way to return to the gallery. It was always more crowded in the afternoon. He didn't want to leave Tammy to handle the crowds all by herself. It didn't seem fair given the fact it was his gallery and therefore, his responsibility. He shouldn't be taking advantage of her loyalty.

The realization he found himself at the children's department cut his musings short. Unsure how he got himself there, he let his eyes wander, looking for the elevators, or any sort of sign to send him in the right direction. As he did so, a certain sight caught his eye. Forgetting what he had meant to be doing, he watched as a little girl by one of the aisles was standing on tiptoes, trying to reach a large Piglet doll. Her forehead creased with concentration and determination one would not associate with a girl so young. The doll she was trying to reach for was huge in her standards; actually, they were almost the same size. Although it wasn't on the highest shelf, it was too high for her.

Not having children of his own, kids at any age had always fascinated him. Of course, he had his niece and nephews, but he wasn't exactly uncle of the year, although Cindy had always been forgiving about that. He loved wandering around Central Park and take pictures of the kids playing there. Those always turned out his best photos when people were his subjects. They always looked so innocent and carefree. He was more careful with it now, though, after one incident in which he nearly got himself arrested, when one hysterical mother thought him some kind of a pedophile.

Which was why he told himself he should be careful now, watching the little girl, but he couldn't help himself; she was too compelling. He wondered what she was doing there all by herself. He looked around, searching for someone who might be her parent, maybe even a sibling, but everyone else around was gathered in groups, and no one seemed to notice her. Her hair was chocolate-colored, not really straight but not curly either underneath her beanie, which was in the shape of a panda's head. Her purple wool coat and dark wellies indicated she wasn't just a girl from the street; she was obviously well taken care of. So why was she there by herself?

He couldn't bear to just stand there and watch her struggle without doing anything to help her. It didn't even cross his mind that this might get him in even more trouble than merely staring at her. She was a damsel in distress for all intents and purposes, and he was nothing but a gentleman. Easily reaching for the pink, funny-looking pig, he picked it up and handed it to her. She looked surprised for just a second, before the confusion in her greenish eyes was replaced with a glint of happiness and gratitude.

"Merry Christmas, Mister!" she greeted him in a toothy grin, and he felt his heart melt despite himself.

"Merry Christmas," he replied, returning her smile. "What's your name, sweetie?"

"Libby."

"Libby," he echoed. "What a pretty name. Nice to meet you, Libby, I'm Mark."

"Nice to meet you!" she imitated him, giggling adorably. Again, he wondered where her parents were. He glanced around. He was getting worried that she was lost without realizing it; what would he do with her when it occurred to her? He wouldn't know how to handle this damsel in distress if she started weeping.

"Where are your mommy and daddy, Libby? You shouldn't be here alone, they'll be worried about you."

But she didn't get a chance to reply when a woman's voice sounded behind him, and the echo of her rushing steps. "Libby, thank goodness, there you are!"

He recognized that voice, he realized with shock. He glanced at the girl again, and suddenly saw it: in her eyes, the color of her hair, the shape of her lips. But that was impossible, wasn't it? There was no way that...

_I'm kind of living with someone… It's not a 'he'._

"What did I tell you about talking to stra – "

He turned to face her, and she stopped mid-sentence as their gazes locked. Her expression was a mixture of worry, horror and confusion as she turned her gaze from him to the child – her daughter? – and back to him.

"Mark."


	3. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

It felt like the longest day, though it was hardly 1PM. She attended two long meetings that morning already, back to back, both in the same building, so on top of her exhaustion she was beginning to feel somewhat claustrophobic as well. When she wasn't in a meeting, she was on the phone with the theater back home, where things were always hectic even between productions. Her desk in the tiny office she'd been assigned was full of reports she still had to review before the next day's meetings. The mess of paperwork reminded her of Joanne. She had always teased her about her never-ending work, and the long hours she used to keep during an important case. It was her second home, if not the first one, at times. Now she understood what it must have been like for Joanne. Now she regretted not being more patient.

She had a five-minute break before her next engagement, a lunch meeting with some of the higher-ups. She stood by the window and looked at the street below. Her office was on the 22nd floor, high above Bryant Park, and the Empire State Building towered majestically right in front of her. Everything looked so tiny from up there, covered with snow. A make-believe city. Toy cabs and toy trees and toy people… it looked like a child's game.

She wondered what Libby was up to. She knew she could trust Robin to take her someplace nice; she just wished she could do it herself. Manhattan had so much to offer the first-time visitor, particularly around Christmas time. She wanted to take her to see a Broadway show, something her own parents used to do long ago when she was a child. Maybe she would make an exception and use her connections to get them last minute tickets someplace. She also toyed with the idea of taking a few days off before heading home. She could definitely use some relaxation time before plunging back to work at home.

Sending away the thoughts of home, she reached for her cell phone on her desk and looked at it thoughtfully. It was working just fine. Of course it did, it was silly to think otherwise. If he didn't contact her until now, he probably wouldn't, and that was that. She placed the phone back on the desk with certain resignation. If she was being honest, it rather upset her. She really wanted to see him again. She thought he did too, given the final moments of their encounter. Her kiss, his invitation… It gave her hope, but she guessed he must have thought better of it. He probably didn't want anything to do with her, and she couldn't really blame him. She hurt him endlessly in the past. He probably didn't want to get himself in trouble all over again. But couldn't he see she had changed? Or maybe it wasn't as obvious as she believed?

A knock came on the door, shaking her out of her reverie. In peeked Lynn, assistant for the convention coordinator. She didn't know how the woman found her way around the jumble of new names and faces, but she was spectacular at her job. It seemed no detail had gone amiss by her; it was inspirational to watch. "Your car is here, Maureen."

"Great, thanks," she said, already reaching for her coat and purse. She hoped the restaurant where the meeting was to take place was a decent one at the very least, for she was starving.

"Also, Stan just called. He's stuck in Staten Island and won't be able to make it to your four o'clock meeting."

An afternoon off? Dared she hope? "Does he want to meet later?"

"No, he'll have to reschedule. He'll give you a call himself once he has a look at his schedule. Enjoy lunch, see you tomorrow!"

"Thanks, Lynn."

As the car trudged down the busy 5th Avenue, she texted with Robin back and forth. Her afternoon off meant afternoon off for Robin – she could finally spend some proper quality time with Libby. Since the restaurant to which she was headed was just off Herald Square, she asked Robin to drop Libby off there later so they could wander about Macy's for a while. Maybe if the lines weren't insane, she would even take her up the Empire State after all.

Luckily, the meeting didn't drag, as all participants were busy people and didn't have time to linger. It worked out better than she could hope. Robin and Libby had just stepped out of a taxi as she said goodbye to the last of the executives at the entrance of the restaurant. "Thanks so much for this, Robin," she said, kneeling next to Libby to give her a kiss.

"Sure, no problem. Didn't you say you'd need me this evening, though?"

"Umm, no, I don't think that will be necessary," she replied hurriedly, trying to keep disappointment out of her tone. She didn't hear from Mark all morning, and she doubted she would hear from him at all. It would be thoughtless to leave Robin hanging like that. She probably had things to do.

"You're sure? I really don't mind going back later."

"Yeah, I'm sure. Enjoy your afternoon."

Soon Robin was gone, heading in the direction of Penn Station. She looked after her a moment, then leaned over and straightened Libby's panda-shaped beanie.

"No, stop it, Mommy!" giggled Libby.

"I'm just making sure your ears stay warm, Munchkin," she said.

"No work today, Mommy?" Libby asked a bit fretfully, as if she feared her mother would disappear if she as much as blinked.

"Not until tomorrow, baby. How about we go in and pick some stuff to decorate our tree?" As soon as they arrived they bought a small fake tree, since they couldn't bring a real one into the hotel suite. Although they bought some decorations already, the tree still looked rather bare. She hoped a few more Christmassy decorations would make it look a bit more like the tree they had in their apartment in San Francisco, and would make Libby feel more at home. She had always had a passion for the holidays, but she had never truly appreciated them until she settled in the West Coast. And when Libby was born, she had made it her mission to impart that appreciation on Libby as well.

"'Kay," said Libby, but her voice lacked enthusiasm. She seemed almost troubled.

"What's wrong, Libby?"

"I wanted Roger to come. Robin said he couldn't."

Her heart skipped a beat. Of all the names in the world, Libby had to choose Roger for her rumpled teddybear. She remembered the first time she heard her calling it that, almost a year back, when her parents gave it to her on her birthday. She asked her why she called him Roger. Libby just shrugged and said that this was its name.

"Robin was right. Roger isn't as nicely dressed as you are, Munchkin. You wouldn't want him to catch a cold, do you?" she struggled to keep her voice from trembling, thinking about the Roger she used to know. _He died last Christmas_. It was still too painful to take in. But she refused to sink back into memories, into self pity over the fact she still hadn't heard from Mark. She had to focus on the present, on her daughter, no matter how difficult it was. "Let's go inside."

* * *

She remembered well the last time she had been to Macy's. She and Mimi were bored, and so Angel suggested a trip uptown. They could barely afford the ride over, but they had so much fun anyway. Obviously their visit drew much attention, but she wasn't sure if it was because they didn't look like the average clients that frequented the department store, or because of Angel. She strode in as if she owned the place, found an available salesgirl at the cosmetics section and demanded a makeover. The salesgirl was so flabbergasted that they ended up getting makeovers as well. She never knew what Angel had promised the girl, but they didn't pay her a cent.

It felt as if forever had passed since then. Now she stood with Libby at the entrance of the enormous department store utterly clueless. It was crowded, not a surprising fact so close to Christmas. It had always amazed her how many people left their gift shopping to the very last minute. Someone gave them directions and they began their journey throughout the floors and the crowds, Libby's hand clutched tightly in hers.

Her cell phone rang just as they passed through the children's department. She didn't recognize the number, but assumed it would be Stan, calling to reschedule their meeting.

"Libby, wait a second, I have to answer this," she said. "Stay where I can see you, okay, baby?" Libby nodded, and she answered the call. It really was Stan, but reception was horrendous, and there was too much noise all around her. She moved further away absentmindedly, thinking it might improve the reception, but to no avail. Eventually she heard him say he would text her the details of their rescheduled meeting, hung up and turned to her right, to where she had left Libby a moment ago, only to find her daughter gone.

Instant panic was washing over her. She placed her phone in her coat pocket, fingers trembling. She felt paralyzed with fear, but frantic, somehow at the same time. A cold feeling was quickly creeping into her veins, making her heart quicken its pace, as she looked around her in a frenzy. Where did she go? She was here a second ago!

She was about to turn to someone for help, when she suddenly noticed a glimpse of Libby's purple coat. A sigh of relief escaped her. Libby was standing there, engaged in what seemed an amiable conversation with a stranger she couldn't see, for he was hidden behind shelves of toys and stuffed animals. She rushed towards her daughter, her panic quickly replaced with a deeper sense of fear. What was she doing? She knew perfectly well that she wasn't supposed to speak with people she didn't know, especially men!

"Libby, thank goodness, there you are!" she called out to her, giving the creep a fair warning before she pounced. It sure was more than he deserved. "What did I tell you about talking to stra – "

And then her fury was replaced by something else altogether when it occurred to her she knew the man her daughter had been talking to. "Mark," she whispered as soon as her gaze met his. By his expression, she could tell he had already put two and two together. Shit. She chuckled nervously, momentarily speechless. "We must stop meeting like this," she managed before her panic came rushing back, and she looked down at Libby. "Munchkin, are you okay?" she asked. Libby smiled at her brightly as if she couldn't see what the fuss was all about.

"We were just talking," said Mark. She raised her eyes to face him, heart still racing. This was becoming more than just coincidence; it was simply impossible! "Are you okay?" he asked her hesitantly.

"A bit shaken, give me a minute."

She tried to smile reassuringly, but he seemed to see right through it. He nodded, as though saying _take all the time you need_. He seemed conflicted, but after a while cleared his throat. "Look, I meant to call you later." But he could barely look at her as he said it. Something in his voice indicated that he didn't mean it. Okay, maybe he did, but he still looked so unsure. He probably hadn't decided whether or not he should.

"No, that's fine, I understand," she assured him, but couldn't help wondering. Did he just say that because he happened to meet her there? Or did he really mean to call her later?

"It's just… work and all, you know? I kind of lost track of time."

"Story of my life," she smiled sort of sadly. She wanted to get rid of this awkwardness, wrapping around them like mist. It just felt wrong. They used to be friends, they used to be _lovers_, for heaven's sake! She didn't want it to come to this. It was bad enough they fell out of touch for over a decade, a fact that was mostly her fault. Now that she found him, she didn't want to lose him all over again. How could she fix this?

Well, she could start by being honest with him, for a change. "So you two have already met?" she asked eventually, looking down again at Libby, who nodded. "Mark, this is my daughter Libby." He had obviously figured out as much already, but she needed to put the truth out there as plainly as possible. "Libby, this is Mark. He's an old friend of mine." She locked her gaze with his as she said it, hoping the words would indicate how much she had valued their friendship.

"Hi," whispered Libby, suddenly clinging to her coat, all but shoving her face inside it. The motion was endearing but somehow surprising, as the two of them seemed so chummy only moments ago.

"She's a little shy," she apologized on her daughter's behalf. Mark smiled but said nothing. She wished she could know what was on his mind. His expression was unreadable. There was a pull at the edge of her coat, gentle yet persistent, putting an end to her attempts to decipher his expression. She looked down at Libby, who stood patiently and waited for her mother to notice her. "What, Munchkin?"

"Mommy, I want this." It was then when she noticed an enormous Piglet that her daughter now picked up from the floor. She could hardly get a hold on it. She turned her amused gaze from Libby to the doll and to Libby again, who looked at her hopefully.

"How did you even..." Her eyes drifted to Mark. "Do you have anything to do with this?"

"Guilty as charged," he shrugged, a conspiratorial smile passing between him and Libby.

"I'll tell you what. Go find a smaller one, and I promise we'll get it. Okay, baby?"

"Okay!" called Libby excitedly, already halfway to the shelves again. She watched her for a moment, and turned to face Mark again.

"She's beautiful," he said quietly.

There were times when she was so proud of her little girl; it was usually over those smallest, meaningless things, the simplest compliment made her heart swell with emotion. "Thank you."

"How old is she?"

"She'll be five in two months." She peeked at him a bit fretfully, but there was no accusation in his blue eyes. Still, she felt compelled to say it. "I should have told you yesterday."

"Why didn't you?" Although his voice carried an unmistakable notion of seriousness, he didn't sound as if he was mad at her for hiding it from him. Actually, he sounded kind of curious.

"I'm not sure. I guess I was afraid you'd judge me or something." She smiled sheepishly, the absurdity of it just dawning on her. "I should have known better."

He hesitated, then glanced at her carefully. She guessed the question before he had even uttered it. "Is it… just the two of you?"

"Yes. Only us." Libby's return saved them from another awkward silence, the inevitable aftermath of her statement. She had two dolls now, smaller ones, and she held them for her to see, smiling proudly. "What you've got there, Munchkin?"

"Mommy, can we get Eeyore, too?" Libby pleaded.

She glanced at Mark and caught him smiling. Just like Libby, he too was awaiting her reply. She pretended to deliberate, although she could never resist her daughter when she gave her that look. "Well, I don't know, Libby. Should we buy both?"

"Pleaaaase?" asked Libby, pouting.

"Now, I wonder who taught her to do _that_," said Mark laughing.

She shot him a glare, but couldn't hide her smile. Awkwardness gone, mission accomplished. "Sure, baby. We'll get both. But only because it's Christmas."

"So how about that dinner tonight?" asked Mark all of a sudden.

She blinked in surprise. She wasn't expecting it, just like the first time he had offered it the other evening. As much as she had longed for it earlier, she knew now she wouldn't be able to make it. She couldn't possible ask Robin to come back. What if she had other plans already? And she promised Libby they'd spend the rest of the day together; she couldn't just ditch her because a better plan now presented itself. No, she would have to make the adult decision and turn him down. There would be other opportunities.

She shook her head, looking at Mark sorrowfully. "I'm afraid we'll have to reschedule. I've already given Libby's babysitter the night off."

"I didn't mean to leave Libby out of it. I thought she could come with us. That is, if she wants to." Before she knew it, he was kneeling next to Libby, so that he was at the same eye level as her. "What do you say, Libby? You want go to dinner with us?" he asked softly. Libby nodded, staring at him as if surprised to be consulted. Mark stood up and smiled at her victoriously. "See? It's a date."

"You're irresistible, aren't you?" she asked him teasingly, in that flirtatious tone of her youth, though her heart was racing. What had just happened?

He blushed slightly and lowered his head, accidentally glancing at his watch. "I have to get back to work… I'll see you later. Is seven too late for her?"

"I guess we can make an exception, under the circumstances," she replied. "We're staying not too far from your gallery." She gave him the name of their hotel. "Meet us there?"

"Sure. I'll be there a bit sooner, if I can."

"Okay. See you later then."

"Later," he smiled, a bit more comfortable, it seemed. Then he looked down at Libby, who was watching him curiously all this time. "It was nice to meet you, Libby," he said formally, making the daughter giggle. Her initial shyness started to slowly wane.

"Bye!" she said smiling, clutching her two new dolls. Mark returned her smile and turned to leave. She looked after him a moment, until he disappeared among the other shoppers. Then she shook her head as though to focus on the here and now.

"We'd better head back if we want to make it to dinner," she said, half to Libby, half to herself.

As they left the department store some time later, Libby talked endlessly about how Mark helped her getting the doll she wanted. She seemed to have liked him a lot, and how could she not? How could anyone not be charmed by Mark?

She smiled fondly as she listened to her daughter's story. It was such a Mark thing to do, saving a damsel in distress, even if this particular damsel was hardly five years old. She was happy to know that at least in that respect, he hadn't changed at all. Although she hadn't expected Mark and Libby to meet so soon – she thought she would have a chance to explain about her daughter, at the very least – she was relieved that Libby liked him so much. She wasn't really sure why, she just did. And Mark was obviously taken by her little girl, which made her feel happy as well. He seemed to know just the way to talk to her, which surprised her, because she knew he didn't have any kids, nor did he live among kids. Whether it was a quality he had acquired from his position as uncle or it simply came naturally, she couldn't quite tell. He would make a great dad someday, she thought smiling. Suddenly, she couldn't wait until the next time they see each other, only a couple of hours away.


	4. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

"_There_ you are, Cohen!" called Tammy as he walked into the gallery. She raised her arms to the heavens dramatically and pinned him with this reproaching look. "I thought you decided to ditch me here again." He rolled his eyes at that remark. He had never did that; not intentionally. "What took you so long?"

He was about to answer her question when he suddenly noticed something strange. Except for three people that were on their way out as well, the gallery was empty. This was quite unusual, given the hour. "Where is everyone?" he asked, forgetting her previous query.

"Oh yeah. That. I think the weather finally scared them back home."

Today, that was a blessing, as far as he was concerned. He could be even earlier to meet Maureen and Libby. If earlier he was still dubious about seeing her again, meeting Libby made these doubts quickly dissipate. The fact that she was _her_ daughter made her even more adorable in his eyes. On his way back to the gallery he couldn't stop thinking about their brief exchange, before he even knew who she was. There was this thing at the edge of his mind that was bugging him, though. He constantly felt as if he forgot to do something, but every time he tried to remember what it was, a little girl with the cutest smile took over his thoughts.

He wondered how Libby fit into the story of Maureen's divorce. He could only assume her ex-husband was Libby's father, although he had no idea if the timelines she had provided matched. He was well-familiar with her former lifestyle, and it might as well be some random guy she had a fling with. Yet he had a feeling this wasn't the case. Maureen wouldn't be so careless. She had always known how to take care of herself. And to be quite honest, it didn't really matter who Libby's father was. Maureen loved her daughter to death. This was the one thing he was sure of. It was quite astounding to watch.

"Cohen, are you still with us?"

Tammy's voice, now spiked with irritation, snapped him back into reality. He blinked, and nodded. "Sorry, I was – "

"Thinking, I know," she said, winking.

"What is that supposed to mean?" he asked, frowning.

"Nothing!" she replied innocently, then shook her head. "What did you get for your mom?"

"My mom?" he echoed, not sure what she was on about. And then it dawned on him. The thing he forgot to do. Shit. "I forgot," he mumbled, hoping she'd somehow let it go.

Well, a guy could dream. "Forgot? Wasn't that the whole purpose of you leaving me here? How could you possibly go looking for a present to your mom, then forget about it?" She asked, looking at him suspiciously. She obviously found his predicament extremely funny.

"I just met... people... on my way, and it completely flew out of my mind."

He could almost see her senses sharpen, and mentally braced himself. "_People_, huh? Is one Maureen Johnson included in those_ people_?" She used the Jewish Mother tone; the one she knew damn well he had dreaded.

"Let it go, Horowitz."

"Not a chance. If I'm right, I should consider myself lucky you bothered to return at all. You ditched me here, ergo, I have every right to know."

She had that look; he knew there was absolutely no way to beat her. "Fine. If it means you'll get off my back, I'll tell you." He looked around again. They were alone. "I think we should probably have an early night, what do you say?"

"Why, you've got somewhere else to be?"

"As a matter of fact, I do," he replied, keeping his back to her as he looked for the keys behind the main counter.

"Marky!" she squealed. "I'll be damned! Have you got yourself a _date_?"

"Shut up, Horowitz," he mumbled, blushing. He grabbed the keys for dear life and went over to lock the door.

"Tell me everything and this is an order!"

"Fine! Just shut up for a second!" She frowned, then crossed her arms against her chest and watched him attentively. "Yes, I met Maureen – "

"I _knew_ it!" she cried triumphantly. He shot her another glare. She bit her lip bashfully. "Sorry."

"I ran into her in Macy's. That is, I ran into someone she was there with."

"This is getting interesting. I thought you said she was single. Was it a new boyfriend? Girlfriend? I guess one could never know for sure with her track record – "

"It was her daughter."

There was a long pause; he got absolutely no comment. Was it possible? For the first time in forever, Tammy was left speechless?

"I must admit I didn't see it coming," she said eventually.

"Yeah, neither did I."

"That… kind of puts a twist on things, doesn't it? A bit of a game changer."

"Why would it change anything?" She didn't answer, but he knew what she was thinking. He sighed. "Tammy, Maureen was… is… my friend. Sure, we have history, but nothing like this is ever going to happen again. The fact that she's a mother doesn't make her less my friend than before."

"If you say so," she said, but it seemed she was struggling not to say anything further, maybe question the whereabouts of Libby's father. He really hoped she knew better than delving into this issue which was neither his business, nor hers. "So you're going to meet her then?"

"I'm going to meet both of them, so the sooner we'll get out of here the better," he said, turning off the lights and opening the door for her. "You're coming?"

She walked pass him out to the street, but then changed her mind and looked back at him, unusually serious. "I hope you know what you're getting yourself into, Cohen."

He held her gaze, hoping he could convey to her that he appreciated her concern, as unnecessary as it was. "I hope so too."

* * *

He hurried home to shower and change before he made his way back downtown. He entered the hotel's lobby a few minutes before 7PM, although he thought he might get there earlier. They were already waiting in a quiet corner, away from the crowds and bigger groups. For a moment he just stood there, watching them. Their similarity was astounding to him. It was easier to miss when they were apart, but quite striking when they were next to one another. Libby looked like a miniature version of Maureen.

They went to a diner he knew which was nearby, only a few minutes' walk from their hotel. He didn't want to take them too far because it was unbelievably cold after dark these days, and the hour was already kind of late for Libby, and he feared she would get tired. The place looked as if it was ripped out of the 50's, and its design included red vinyl seats and a huge jukebox that played old hits. Like Ellen's Stardust, only without the singing and the tourists. He wanted them to be able to speak without distractions.

Maureen seemed a lot more comfortable around him than she was that afternoon. It probably helped that she'd left behind her work clothes. In jeans and a dark green sweater that brought out the green in her eyes, she seemed less different than she seemed to him the previous evening, more like his old friend. She still had that habit of stretching the sleeves over her knuckles, he mused. It all made him feel more comfortable too. Plus, he knew they didn't have much time to catch up, so he decided to put aside his bitterness and resentment. He had a few good years anyway; there was really no point to bring it back up. They had enough to talk about even without opening old wounds.

"So how come you're here for work right on the holiday season?" he asked. It felt like a safe enough topic. Thousands of other queries were whirling in his head, bugging him since the evening they first met, but he couldn't ask most of them with Libby around.

"An unfortunate turn of events?" she asked, smiling crookedly at him. She explained about the theater she worked for, about what she had come there to do. "This event always takes place at the beginning of December. This year it was delayed somewhat, so here we are." She smiled at Libby, and he liked how she was making her feel part of the conversation.

"On Christmas though? That's a bit unfair."

"I guess there was no way around it. Either way, I couldn't really get away with it."

Did she try to get away with it? Was she that reluctant to return to New York? Did it leave such a mark on her that she never wanted to go back? He shook his head; if that were the case, he'd rather not know. "And you said you were here until after New Year?"

"Yeah. I'm thinking of taking couple of days off before we head back, to spend some time with this little one," she smiled, nodding towards Libby, who was sitting there watching him.

"Do you like New York so far, Libby?" he asked her.

"It's fun," she replied quietly. She sounded kind of sad though. She probably missed home. And Maureen was probably working around the clock, which wasn't really helping.

"Libby's babysitter is the absolute best, she makes sure Libby gets to see everything that's worth seeing."

"It's the best place to be in on Christmas," he assured the little girl, just as the waitress set their orders on the table.

"How about you?" asked Maureen, sipping her chocolate milkshake. "I mean, it's been ages, huh? Time flies."

"Me? You know. More or less the same," he replied briefly. He could feel his cheeks flush ever so slightly underneath her inquisitive gaze. He hated talking about himself. He wasn't that interesting anyway; why would she want to hear about him?

"Plus some awards, a couple of magazine articles, international fame…"

He chuckled uncomfortably and pretended to look over his shoulder. "Are we still talking about me?"

She rolled her eyes at his reaction. "Oh, come on, Mark, I read about some of it myself. Stop being so modest and own your success, you deserve it."

Her candor was touching. It was kind of funny, really. Back then it was she who pursued success and recognition. The accolades, the glory, a moment underneath the spotlight. Now she didn't seem to want any of it for herself. "I also teach photography workshops in NYU every now and again. That's the more important thing, to me; nourishing the future generation."

"I get that. I always try to be as available as possible for interns at work. They remind me how clueless I was when I first started. How clueless I still am sometimes, senior position or not."

"Yeah, exactly." It was as if she could read his mind. Back when they were together, he knew Maureen wasn't as dense and as vain as pretty much everyone had perceived her, but this was by far the most mature exchange they ever had, the very first time they truly had a similar mindset about anything. For the first time he didn't feel forced to play a part with her, pretend to be someone he wasn't, just so she would like him a bit more.

"So what are you going to do on Christmas Eve?" he asked, attempting to move the conversation as far away from him as possible. She smiled as if she knew exactly what he was trying to do. "Don't your parents live nearby?"

"Yeah," she replied slowly, her eyes wide with awe, as if she couldn't believe he remembered. "Yeah, they live in Jersey. But unfortunately they're visiting my grandparents in London. They booked it long before I knew we'd spend the holiday here. So I don't know; we'll probably stay in the hotel and watch cheesy movies or whatnot. What are you going to do?"

"I'll be in Scarsdale the entire weekend. We have this dinner thing for Chanukah and – "

Her jaw nearly dropped. "Scarsdale? Since when do you..." her voice trailed. She looked at him questionably.

"My father passed away a couple of years ago. I thought it might do me good to reconnect with my mom."

"Did it?"

"I'd like to think that it did, but I don't know." He loved his mom, he really did; but she had this almost desperate need to see him married and settled, and wasn't shy about reminding him that at any opportunity she had. Through the years, it had just gotten worse and worse. Every time he visited, she mentioned a new girl she wanted him to meet. Always the same nice, educated, boring Jewish girls that would grow to be just like her in a few of years.

"Mommy, how will Santa know we won't be home this year?" Libby's voice brought him back to reality.

"Because Santa just knows these things, baby. That's what makes him awesome."

He chuckled. It was classic Maureen, being so dead serious about this whole Santa nonsense parents had fed their poor kids. She had always had such holiday spirit. He remembered she had always loved dressing up on Halloween and New Year. Of course she would raise her daughter to be the same way. Actually, maybe it wasn't such a bad thing. Tradition was important.

Libby didn't look so convinced. Like her mother, she wouldn't be easily fooled. She narrowed her eyes at Maureen ever so slightly. "So he'll know where to find us?"

"Of course he will!"

"Do _you_ think he will?" Her eyes were suddenly on him, the glint in them shifting from suspicion to hope.

He stared at her for a second, totally speechless. Was he expected to go along with the pretense? He was Jewish! "Well, I don't… I'm not really…" he stammered, then shot Maureen a pleading glance.

"Libby, Mark doesn't celebrate Christmas."

Libby gasped, as if not celebrating Christmas was some terrible crime. "Why?"

"Because he's Jewish. It means that instead of Christmas and New Year and Halloween he celebrates other holidays."

"No Christmas?" asked Libby, obviously horrified. It looked as if she couldn't imagine a world where Christmas was not being celebrated.

"Hey, it's not as bad as you think. We've got other holidays." He had never been overly religious or anything, and yet he felt this childish need to defend his own faith and traditions.

"Like what?"

"Like Chanukah." From the corner of his eye, he saw Maureen roll her eyes, and smiled. He remembered that time they celebrated both Christmas and Chanukah in the loft. It's been the craziest night. She and Roger couldn't stop laughing at him as he lit the candles, citing the prayer in broken Hebrew. There was this naughty spark in her eyes now; he knew she remembered. "Chanukah is actually like Christmas, only it lasts eight days. And each day, you get a present."

Libby stared at him, her eyes wide with amazement. "Really?"

"Yeah. And we light candles and eat special doughnuts and hash browns. It's really not that horrible like your mom thinks." He couldn't help stealing a glance at Maureen, mock-glaring at her.

"Do you really get a present for each day?" she asked him dubiously. "I've always thought that either you made it up so we wouldn't pity you, or it was some kind of compensation for Jewish kids because they didn't have Christmas."

"We do. I mean, kids in my class always got presents for each day," he said, putting on his best miserable expression.

"Aw, poor Marky!" cooed Maureen.

"My point is, we've got other holidays that can be just as fun as Christmas."

"Right," she said slowly, trying to hide her smile. "Sure, whatever you say, Mark."

"Mommy, I want to celebrate Chanukah too!" said Libby.

He burst out laughing. He couldn't help it. She sounded so resolute. Maureen shot him a glare, then turned her attention to Libby. "You can't celebrate Chanukah, Munchkin, because you're not Jewish."

"How can I be one?"

"Well, I'm pretty sure you have to be born one."

"Actually, once your mom is Jewish, which your mom is not, Libby, then you are Jewish too," he said, feeling ridiculously proud of himself. He did listen at school once upon a time.

Libby's face fell. "But I want to celebrate Chanukah and get a present for each day!" she said. Her bottom lip began to tremble. Definitely Maureen's daughter, he mused, struggling to conceal his amusement.

"How about a compromise? We'll celebrate Christmas like we always do, but you'll still get a present each day until New Year. We got two today already, that's an impressive start, isn't it?"

That seemed to satisfy the little girl. Her lip stopped trembling. "Okay."

* * *

The three of them shared a slice of cheesecake for dessert. To his intense surprise, he was having the best time. He couldn't remember the last time he had been so chatty. It felt as if he was waking up from years of deep slumber. He remembered Tammy's apprehension from earlier, and made a mental note to tell her how ridiculous she was, how wrong. And then he stopped mid-thought when he noticed Libby's head dropping against Maureen's shoulder.

"We should get going," said Maureen reluctantly. "I've got a meeting at 8AM sharp and it's way passed Libby's bedtime. I bet you've got stuff to do tomorrow too."

"Only about a million," he replied, already signaling the waitress for their check. From the corner of his eye he saw Maureen reaching for her bag. "What are you doing?"

"Taking out my purse. You didn't think I'd let you pay for dinner, did you?"

"And why the hell not?"

She laughed softly. "Mark, you've always been the gentleman, but come on. It's not fair, there's two of us. Let's split it." The waitress put the check on the table between them. They both reached for it at the same moment, but he was slightly faster. His hand covered hers and he gave her fingers a little squeeze. He thought he felt her freeze.

"Please let me pay for dinner," he said quietly, keeping his eyes locked on hers.

She hesitated, but eventually sighed with resignation. "Fine. But next time I'm buying."

Their hands were still joined. She didn't try to pull her hand back. It felt nice. Familiar. "We'll see about that," he said, slowly letting go of her hand.

* * *

Libby was almost asleep, and so he carried her all the way to the hotel. He followed Maureen into the suite where she took Libby from his arms and excused herself to tuck her in. He let his eyes wander around the suite living area as he waited for her to reappear. There was a fake Christmas tree in a corner, lit and decorated, and it brought a smile to his face. He loved that despite the fact they were forced to spend the holiday away from home, Maureen had made an effort to make it as normal as possible for her daughter. It spoke of devotion he was only beginning to uncover in this new version of her.

He turned at the soft sound of footsteps as Maureen reemerged, barefoot, into the living area. "She's asleep," she said. She kept her voice low, as if there was a chance to wake Libby, although she was sound asleep several doors down the hall.

"You should get some rest too," he said gently. She looked exhausted. She nodded, then wordlessly walked him to the door. "I had a great time. She's truly incredible."

He thought she was blushing, but in the dim light, he couldn't be sure. "Thank you. I had a great time too. We should do this again. Just us the next time. There are... things to be said."

Was she talking about them? About the past? About the truth behind her marriage and Libby's father? Possibly all of the above. He nodded. "Yeah. Okay, sure. I'd love to do this again."

"When are you going to Scarsdale?"

"Midday Friday. I'll be back on Monday."

"How about tomorrow evening then?"

He thought about it for a minute. Thursday night. He didn't have any plans… well, did he ever? He nodded. "Tomorrow is great. Let me think where we can go and I'll call you tomorrow." This time, he knew he would. Looking at her, she seemed to know that too.

Their gazes locked, and he was suddenly aware of how close they were standing to one another. She was impossibly more beautiful in the soft light. The twinkling lights of the Christmas tree added a certain glow to her features. She seemed as if she wanted to say something, but didn't. Instead she just kept looking at him. There was something in her eyes, this glimmer he recognized from so long ago and didn't think he'd ever see in her eyes again. But it was there, and for a second he was mesmerized by it. He didn't dare move, in fear it might burn out. It felt as if the entire world had stopped existing. Before he knew what he was doing, before he could rationalize his actions or back away, he inched closer.


	5. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

It felt as if they were standing there for hours, just eyeing one another by the door. She couldn't bring herself to look away. His eyes were mesmerizing, speaking volumes, everything he didn't dare to utter out loud. It felt as if she could read his mind, but at the same time she couldn't. It was so confusing; like she had experienced it all before, at some point in her life, and now it was happening all over again. It made her head reel. She sensed it earlier, when their hands touched at the diner, but she dismissed it, telling herself it was in her head. And now he was leaning closer, but he didn't seem to notice; like he couldn't bring himself to look away as well. If she made one step, just a tiny step forward…

She stepped back, her mind everywhere. He blinked, as though her sudden movement surprised him. She reached out to touch his cheek. "You should go," she said quietly.

His gaze was a bit unfocused, like someone who had just woke up. "Yeah. I'll call you tomorrow," he replied. He took her hand, the one that was resting against his cheek, in his, and pressed his lips against it in a soft kiss. He flashed a tiny grin at her. "Good night."

She didn't reply, just watched him as he left the suite, until he disappeared around the corner. She closed the door and leaned against it, releasing the breath she didn't even realize she was holding.

* * *

The next morning went by in a haze. She wasn't sure how she managed to appear professional in her morning meeting, because her mind was anywhere but on the matter ahead. Mostly she was thinking back of the previous evening. Libby didn't stop talking about Mark from the moment she woke up, and it made her happy how fond of him she had become after just one day. It was hard not to like him, really, and he was so amazing with her. He seemed taken by Libby as well. But that moment right before he left... It kind of scared her, mostly because she wasn't sure what it meant, if it meant anything at all.

It was relatively warm outside, the nicest weather since her arrival, and so when she had an hour to kill following her meeting, she grabbed some coffee and a blueberry muffin and found refuge in Bryant Park, on a bench overlooking the Chrysler Building. She sat there admiring the elegant skyscraper, happy with the lack of responsibilities that came with simple observation. All this mingling was getting to her; she was in desperate need of some alone time, and a bit of sun.

Her cell phone rang just as she broke her muffin in two. Sighing, she glanced at the screen, thinking it would be one of her colleagues. She didn't recognize the number, but accepted the call anyway. "Hello?"

"Maureen?"

She sat a little straighter, as if he could somehow see her, then mentally scolded herself for her stupidity. She didn't think she'd hear from Mark so soon. The previous evening, when she pretty much rejected him, she feared she'd hurt him. Of course, she had done that countless times before, but now she actually cared. "Hey," she said, as casually as she could.

"Is this a good time?"

"I'm having coffee in Bryant Park. Why haven't I been here before?"

"You were too busy ruling Avenue A, I guess," he chuckled softly. "You should check out the library, it's incredible."

"I'll add it to my list, thanks."

There was a pause. Mark cleared his throat, as if he too was debating whether or not to bring up the previous evening. She thought he was maybe waiting for her to apologize, or explain, but she didn't know what she could say. First she'd have to explain all that to herself, she rationalized.

But whatever happened, she still wanted to see him again. There were still things to say; things she couldn't tell him in Libby's presence. She decided she should just ask. Worst case, he'd just turn her down. "Are we still on for tonight?"

"When did we say anything about canceling it?" Yeah, that was more like Mark, pretending nothing at all had happened. "Around eight thirty?"

"Great. Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise," he replied; it sounded as if he was smiling.

"Oh, don't do that to me, you know I don't like surprises," she laughed. "What am I supposed to wear if it's a surprise?"

"Not something you'd wear for work. Unless you want to be an easy target for odd looks."

If that was supposed to be a clue, she wasn't any wiser by it. "Where are you taking me?"

He laughed softly. "You'll see. I'll be there on eight thirty."

"Fine. See you then."

* * *

"But why can't I come too?" protested Libby for what felt like the hundredth time. She sat in the middle of the bed in her flannel Hello Kitty pajama, hugging her teddybear close to her chest, and looked resentfully at her mother.

"Because it's way passed your bedtime, Munchkin. Why are you still up?"

"Because I want to see Mark!"

"Who is this guy anyway?" asked Robin, who was kneeling by a suitcase in the corner, looking for a book she and Libby could read. "And how come your daughter is head over heels in love with him?"

"He's an old friend. That's all." Well, not exactly, but she didn't feel like explaining the whole story to Robin. Surely not with Libby around. "Anyway, he should be here soon, so what do you think? Wool or leather?" She was wearing a soft black sweater and her favorite jeans. She knew the smarter choice would be the wool trench coat she usually wore for work, but she'd packed her brown leather jacket as an afterthought, and it seemed like the perfect opportunity to don it. And Mark had specifically instructed to not wear something she'd wear for work.

"You'll probably freeze to death in the leather, but you'll look hot wearing it, so," said Robin winking.

She rolled her eyes but slipped into the jacket, then looked in the mirror doubtfully. "I can always wear a scarf." She looked at Libby through the mirror. "Munchkin, what do you think?"

"You look pretty, Mommy!" Libby confirmed enthusiastically, clapping her hands and making both women smile.

"Right, so leather jacket it is," she said, just as a knock was heard on the main door.

"He's here! He's here!" exclaimed Libby, all but launching herself out of the room.

Robin raised her eyebrow at her; she pretended not to notice. "Libby, you can't just open a door without knowing who is on the other side. Ask _who is it_."

"Who is it?" imitated Libby, who was standing in front of the door.

"It's Mark." His voice was muffled by the door.

"Mommy, it's Mark, can I open the door now?"

"Yes, you can," she said, smiling despite herself.

Mark was standing on the doorway, his face wearing that hesitant expression. She could recognize it from miles away. But then it slowly faded as Libby threw her arms around his knees, which was the highest she could go. He almost toppled backward with surprise.

"Hey little one, aren't you supposed to be in bed?" he asked her, smiling, ruffling her hair a bit.

"We couldn't stop her."

"Reminds me of someone I used to know," he said, looking up from her daughter straight at her. For a second, she was speechless; then she snapped out of it and turned her attention to Robin, who was watching the scene from the entrance to the hallway.

"Robin, this is Mark. Mark, Robin is Libby's babysitter."

"Nice to meet you," said Mark. He couldn't even shake her hand properly; Libby was still all over him.

"Same here," smiles Robin. "You're all Libby talks about," she added, making him blush.

"Okay, Munchkin, now say goodnight, it's bedtime for you."

"Oh wait, I've got something for her," said Mark all of a sudden, reaching for the inner pocket of his coat.

He got her something? She glanced at Robin; it was easy to guess what the younger woman was thinking. Too cute to be true. "You shouldn't have – " she started to protest. There was a glimmer in Libby's eyes as he handed her a small parcel, wrapped in a colorful paper. She looked at her mother hesitantly, as is she wasn't sure she was allowed to take it. "What do we say, Libby?"

"Thank you," whispered Libby, suddenly shy. She slowly unwrapped her present to reveal… what was that? For a second, she thought her eyes were playing tricks on her. Then she looked at Mark, and by that mischievous spark in his eyes she knew they weren't. She burst out laughing. It was a Christmas ornament shaped like a cow with a bell around its neck.

"For your tree," he said, nodding towards their tree in the corner. "Your mom used to love cows back in the day," he told Libby.

"I still do." How could he possibly remember that? She completely forgot until she saw that cow. _Only thing to do is jump over the moon_. That protest felt like forever ago.

"Ready to go?" he asked, shaking her out of her reverie.

"Yeah, just a sec." She knelt next to Libby, who was still fascinated by her gift. "Goodnight, Munchkin, give me a kiss." Libby kissed her nose, then gave her a hug. "Don't stay up too late."

"Okay."

"Bye, Libby. Robin, it was nice meeting you," said Mark, letting her walk passed him outside.

* * *

He told her to wait as he hailed a taxi and chatted with the driver for a second. She stuffed her chin into her scarf. It was biting cold. Just when she thought she should go back up and fetch her more sensible coat, he beckoned her forward and opened the taxi's door for her. It was much warmer inside, thankfully. As the taxi headed downtown, she was trying to talk him into telling her where they were headed, but he only grinned mischievously, being all secretive about it. It wasn't until they got to their final destination when it finally dawned on her where they were. She stared at him in disbelief as he paid the driver, then followed him outside. She looked at the street, somewhat familiar and yet not at all.

"Do you come here often?" she asked Mark as he held the door to the Life Café open for her.

"Not as often as I would like, these days," he replied. "Work's been crazy lately. But I like coming here every now and again. The owners changed a couple of times. But you know, it's still the same old Life."

"Only now they actually let us in," she remarked in a whisper as they followed a waiter to a side table.

She raised her head from the menu to look around the crowded café. Everyone seemed to mind their own business. Christmas songs were playing softly in the background. There were no joined tables, no crazy groups to jump over those tables and celebrate life and love and simply being. Was the place different, or was it just her? For a second she could see them in her mind's eye, that night after her protest. That night was a turning point of sorts, a night of new beginnings; beginnings that inevitably led to endings.

"Mo?" Her head snapped up to the sound of her old nickname, spoken softly. A different waiter was standing next to their table, waiting to take their orders. After he left, Mark eyed her with concern. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. It's just... weird being back here."

"We can leave if you want," he said hesitantly. "I mean, we just ordered, but we could always make a run for it."

"No," she smiled at him. "I meant weird in a good way." She shook her head, chuckling. "I still can't believe it was your gallery."

"I still can't believe you just showed up there."

And then, all of a sudden, she remembered the reason for her return. "Is she your girlfriend or something?"

"What? Who?"

"I didn't just show up at the gallery the evening we met. I was there the day before. There was this woman, she told me she helped a friend run the place. She's the reason I returned, sort of."

There was this spark of recognition in his eyes, but at the same time he looked puzzled. "You mean Tammy? No, she's not my girlfriend; I mean, we dated a couple of times, but we're not… it's not... What do you mean she's the reason you returned? She told you I would be there?"

"Not exactly. She said her friend who owned the gallery would be there the next day. I didn't know she meant you. She never mentioned you by name."

So he told her about the circumstances in which Tammy became an inseparable part of his life, then about some other failing relationships he had had through the years. She told him about some of hers. When she jokingly mentioned Joanne, he covered his ears and started humming until she stopped. Then their orders arrived, and their conversation took a more serious turn as he told her about his whereabouts on 9/11. They were on her mind in the aftermath of the attacks, when the size of loss and devastation was slowly unfolding. Of course, she only learned now that Collins was already gone and wasn't there to witness that; there was some comfort in that, at least. Mark and Roger spent the first several nights uptown with one of Mark's colleagues, away from the dust and the horror. It was a bit surreal to hear him speak of it now, safe and sound across from her. She mentally added the World Trade Center to her ever-growing list of places to visit before she returned to San Francisco.

When he began asking her more personal questions, they were all vague, as if he didn't dare asking what he really wanted to know. And it was easy to guess what that was. "Look, Mark, it's fine. You can just ask it," she told him eventually.

"What are you talking about?" There was surprise in his voice, as if he didn't expect her to be on to him.

"I know what you want to know, and I'm fine with it. Don't offend me by assuming you had me fooled. I'm on to your scheme, Mark Cohen." She tried to make light of the situation, but he didn't seem so amused. "Just go ahead and ask it," she added, almost pleading with him now. She just wanted this issue out of the way.

He looked as if he was about to protest again, but then he changed his mind and looked at her seriously. "Did he even know her?"

She didn't know why she was surprised. Probably because she assumed he wouldn't associate Libby with the story of her ex-husband. She assumed he would think Libby was an accident, the result of a one-night stand that went too far. Well, maybe he did think that, but decided to phrase his question as politely as he could.

She didn't look away from him as she replied. "He didn't want her. We weren't married long when I got pregnant. We didn't plan on having kids so soon. He tried to persuade me to get rid of it, said we weren't ready yet. And when talking wasn't enough, he tried some other ways."

She wasn't ready to share the gory details, not even with Mark; thinking back of it made her shiver, even after all this time. "It wasn't long before I got rid of _him_." She would always remember the night Libby was born. As she held her sleeping newborn, it wasn't horror at her new status as a single mother that washed over her, but an enormous sense of gratitude. Her baby girl was unharmed. She was all that mattered.

She peeked at Mark over the rim of her coffee mug. He looked shaken. He hesitated, then said, "It isn't like you to marry someone like that in the first place."

She chuckled darkly, having heard that before by her mother, who had become twice as protective once she signed the divorce papers and decided to raise Libby alone. She couldn't explain it without it sounding like some sort of lame excuse. She truly believed at the time Andy was different. "I believed I loved him. Maybe I did, for a while. And I wanted to have a family, to do something right with my life for a change. The only good thing that came out of all this shit was Libby. I don't know what I'd do without her," she said honestly. His expression remained unreadable. "I know what you must be thinking. Maureen Johnson, a mother? What a laugh."

Mark shook his head in protest. "That's not what I was thinking at all. She's incredible, and you're raising her all by yourself, somehow along with a demanding job and with your parents living across the country. This is something people should be proud of, not laugh at."

She was feeling stupid for even suspecting he would treat her with scorn. Didn't she know anything? "This is probably the nicest thing anyone has ever told me about this whole issue." He smiled, but seemed embarrassed by the compliment. He was blushing ever so slightly. It was just like old times, she thought fondly; she could always count on Mark to say just the right thing. "How do you do it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Even when we were together, you always knew exactly what to say to make me feel better."

"I cared about you. I care about you now. I don't do anything, really, I'm just being honest."

"And I went out of my way to treat you like shit." To have this dawn on her now, with the changes she had undergone and the shift in her priorities, was rather painful. What sort of a person was she? What gave her the right to hurt him like she had? "I was so mean to you," she whispered, now ashamed of the old version of her. She looked up at him pleadingly. "Will you even forgive me?"

For a second, his expression was sealed, and she was bracing herself for a nasty remark, or a downright refusal. But once again, she should have known better. A moment later a slow smile appeared on his face. "I _have_ forgiven you."

From that point on, the conversation took a lighter note. He told her funny stories about Roger and Collins, things that happened after she left. She laughed in all the right places, but the truth was they saddened her more than she would ever admit to Mark. She knew they could have been funnier if she was a part of them, which she wasn't. The one thing they did not talk about was what happened, or nearly happened, right before Mark left the previous night. It was as if there was this line that both of them were careful not to cross, a wordless agreement to never mention it.

They talked literally all the way back to the hotel. He walked her upstairs, just as he did the night before, and waited until she opened the door.

"Do you… want to come in?" She wasn't even sure where the question came from. He looked surprised as well, but nodded and followed her inside. It was warm inside the suite, and quiet. Robin must have been fallen asleep. It happened before, when one of her dinner meetings got delayed. When she returned to the hotel, she found Robin and Libby fast asleep side by side in the suite's second bedroom.

She held a finger to her lips and led the way to the sofa. They sat facing one another, eyeing each other a bit shyly. "I had a really great time tonight," she said, then chuckled when she realized that she told him the same thing the day before. "Man, I gotta stop saying that."

"Then I guess we both lose points for originality. I had a great time too."

His hand was resting on the seat between them. She covered it with her own hand, then laced their fingers together without thinking too much of it. If the motion surprised him, he showed no signs of it; he just squeezed their joined hands a little, and smiled softly at her.

"When are you leaving for Scarsdale?"

"Tomorrow, as early as I can."

"You're not driving there," she half said, half asked him.

"No, not a chance. I hate driving in Manhattan," he said, pretending to shiver. "Plus, traffic will be a nightmare, Christmas Eve and all that. I'm taking a train from uptown, it's much more efficient." He paused, then said hesitantly, "Maybe we can do something on New Year, if you want."

"Yeah, I'd love that." She looked into his eyes and there it was again. Just like the other night. The air itself was charged with it. Well, this time she wouldn't back away, she decided. With his gaze still locked on hers, he was leaning closer, or was she the one moving closer? It didn't even seem to matter. He reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, then kept his hand against her cheek. His breath was soft and warm against the skin of her neck. Her lips parted ever so slightly; as if that was the approval he'd sought, he leaned in and let his lips graze hers with the slightest touch –

"Maureen?"

Mark pulled back immediately, and even in the dimming light she knew he was blushing. Robin came in from the hallway, looking disoriented. She blinked into the semi-darkness.

"Hey, Robin. Sorry, did we wake you?"

"I thought I heard voices... I didn't realize I fell asleep." She shook her head, as if hoping the motion would sober her up somewhat. "Did you guys have a good time?"

"We had a great time, yeah. How's Libby?"

"She was determined to wait up for you, of course. She didn't last half an hour," replied Robin, smiling fondly.

"I'd better go," said Mark, standing up. She walked him to the door without a protest. Although Robin was discreet and kept her distance, she could feel eyes on them.

"Bye, Mark, thanks for everything."

"I'll be in touch. Merry Christmas," he murmured. He leaned over to kiss her cheek, lingering a second longer than was probably appropriate. Then he waved his goodbye to Robin and left. She closed the door slowly, avoiding making eye contact with Robin for as long as she could.

"I hope I wasn't interrupting anything," said Robin. She had that tone. And of course, as she turned to look at her, she had that smug expression on.

"No, of course not." Well, actually...

"Because he's kind of cute. I think I want one. Like, if older guys were my thing."

"Hey, he's _my_ age! I'm not that older than you!"

"I see what you're doing, but you won't get away with it, you know. Libby's asleep."

"Which means you're free to give me the third degree?"

"You won't find another babysitter in such short notice, so I know you can't fire me."

She mock-groaned, but knew Robin had a point. And she had been so evasive about it; she had to give the poor girl _something_. "Fine, what do you want to know?"

"Where did you find him?"

"I told you, he's an old friend." Robin rolled her eyes. "Back when I lived in the East Village, we used to date. But then things happened… and I dumped him."

"Oh, poor thing. And now?"

"And now," she echoed, but had no idea how to finish. Now what?


	6. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

"Wow, you are _so_ early!"

He lifted his head from the computer screen to face Tammy on the doorway of the office, looking surprised to find him there. "Good morning to you too, Horowitz."

She eyed him suspiciously. "How come you're already here? I know you haven't spent last night here... Wait, have you?"

"No, of course I haven't spent last night here," he replied, rolling his eyes at her.

Tammy shrugged – her version of an apology, it seemed – and showed herself in, sitting across from him. "Still waiting for the reason," she said, waving at him jokingly.

"I didn't sleep well," he said briefly, hoping the answer, pretty much the truth, would satisfy her.

A slow, sly smile curled on her lips. He felt like burying his face between his palms, but resisted and braced himself for her backfire. "Didn't sleep, huh? And what was it you've been doing instead of sleeping, if I may ask?"

Here we go again. "Absolutely not what you have in mind, cut it out," he retorted, frowning.

"How was your date?"

"I don't know how many more times I can stress this, Horowitz, it was _not_ – "

"... a date. I know, I know, because you are _just_ friends."

He ignored the mockery her voice carried. "That's right."

There was some relief he was leaving town for the weekend, even if Scarsdale was his destination. He desperately needed to be alone, away from work, away from Tammy's enquiries, but most importantly, away from Maureen. He needed to think this through.

"When do I get to meet her?"

He stared at her in disbelief. "I beg your pardon?"

"In all the time I've known you, never once have I seen a picture of her, which I have always found ironic given the fact you document pretty much everything that moves. But now that she's here in the flesh, when do I get to meet that mythological ex of yours? The one you're just friends with now?"

He narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously. "Why would you want to meet her?"

"Well, your mom isn't here to approve..."

"My mom will never approve. She's not Jewish, remember?"

Tammy let out a fake gasp, pressing her hand to her forehead dramatically. "Marky, how could you?" He rolled his eyes. "Seriously though, I would just like to give her a fair warning about what she is getting herself into, since you're so obviously not heeding to my warnings."

"Haven't I told you there's nothing to worry about?"

"You say that now, but Mark..."

"Besides, you've already met her."

It shut her up as he'd hoped. She gave him a look. "It's a known fact I have the memory of a goldfish, but don't you think I'll remember that?"

"She told me last night she talked to you the day before she and I met. That you recommended she'd come again to meet the photographer. Nice selling skills, by the way, Horowitz," he added with a grin.

She didn't reply for a moment, just stared at the opposite wall in contemplation. Then she all but jumped out of her seat. "I _do_ remember her! Long dark hair? Hazel eyes? She wore a great trench, ivory colored."

Except for the previous night, she wore that same coat every time he met her. He nodded his affirmation. "That's Maureen."

Tammy's eyes widened with amazement. "Whoa!"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means, Cohen, that she is gorgeous! And completely out of your league, which again begs the question – "

"Just let it go, Horowitz. Look, I've got some work to finish here before I leave for Scarsdale –"

"Yeah, got it, I'll go get us some breakfast. But you'll have to tell me what happened last night sooner or later. You realize that, don't you?"

He thought back about how close she was sitting, the warmth of her hand in his, the anticipation that glimmered in her eyes a second before he leaned in to kiss her. He could feel himself smile in spite of himself. "I'll have to tell that to myself first."

"So something _did_ happen!" Tammy cried victoriously.

"No! Ugh, forget it!"

* * *

Tried as she might to get information out of him, he didn't tell Tammy a single thing. He left the gallery right after lunch and headed uptown to catch the train for Scarsdale. He sank into his seat and dropped his overnight bag on the seat next to him. Then he took out a book and his iPod in preparation for the journey ahead. He chose a playlist at random, relieved to be listening to different music than the same old Christmas tunes 24/7. But as soon as the train gained speed, leaving the city behind, his book held no interest to him. He closed his eyes, letting his mind drift. It was inevitable that his thoughts would take him back to the previous night.

Of course, he didn't tell Tammy how the night could have ended if Robin hadn't entered the scene. But would it have ended that way? Maureen might have pulled away, like she had before, but given the way she had reached for his hand, and what he had found in her eyes, he had a feeling that she wouldn't have. What did that mean, though? Everything was happening so fast, and it felt as though it was completely out of his control. These old feelings were rushing back, and while he remembered them well, now they were of a slightly different essence.

Besides, the circumstances were beyond problematic. She lived too far away now, literally across the country. He had never believed in long distance relationships. And of course, there was Libby. He had grown fond of the little girl, but was he ready to be a father? And then he realized what he was thinking and wanted to kick himself. He was planning _way_ too far ahead. There was no relationship to speak of for one thing, and what if it was all in his head? What if Maureen didn't share those feelings? What if she just enjoyed spending time with him after all those years apart? What if they _were_ just friends as far as she was concerned?

* * *

Cindy suggested she would pick him up from the train station so he didn't have to handle taxis on Christmas Eve. She was already waiting outside the station, all but squealing in delight as he waved to draw her attention. She waited for him to approach her before she threw her arms around him.

"Mark! It's so lovely to see you!" she gushed.

"It's great to see you too, sis, thanks for coming."

"Sure, my pleasure. It's so cold, right?"

They chatted about the weather as he dropped his bag in the backseat of her station wagon. They kept the conversation light and neutral throughout the drive to their mother's place, as if Cindy knew he would need every bit of energy to face their mother during dinner. He told her about the gallery; she promised she would stop by after the holidays. He was looking forward to it. His sister had always been his biggest supporter.

Two teenagers were playing basketball one-on-one as they pulled into the driveway of the small two-story house. They stopped playing at once and started waving enthusiastically at him. "Hey, Uncle Mark!"

"Hey, guys, you've grown so tall!" He gave them each a high five, thinking they were too old for hugs.

"Wanna play?"

"Not a chance in hell," he laughed. "I won't have my ass kicked by my nephews."

The twins Josh and Michael were fifteen. Their younger sister Natalie was nine. Although he didn't see them often, it was incredible to watch them grow. It made him think of Libby instantly. Would she, too, grow up so fast before he noticed? And then his thoughts shifted from the daughter to her mother, and he mentally shut her out. Enough. He came to spend the weekend with his family. He refused to be distracted.

"Mark?" He blinked as his sister's voice disrupted his thoughts. "You're coming inside? It's freezing out."

"Yeah, sure," he said, tossing his bag over his shoulder and following Cindy and the boys inside.

* * *

For the first half hour or so, he thought it would be a quiet, peaceful dinner. He was thrilled to see his sister and her family again, and for a while they did most of the talking. But then his mother lay her fork aside and looked at him thoughtfully from above the plate of brisket, and he knew it was silly to hope.

"Mark, do you remember Sheila Goldberg?"

He grabbed his fork and glared at Cindy, who was sitting across from him. She just shrugged, as if to say she had nothing to do with it. Yeah, right. "Umm… no, Mom, I don't."

"You went to high school with her, don't you remember? Her father used to work in Dad's clinic." He shook his head, bracing himself for the punch line. "Well, anyway. She is in town, visiting her parents for Chanukah. I thought you could get together; you know, to speak of old times," she finished, winking. She had that annoying, brilliant grin, as if she had just come up with the world's greatest idea.

He groaned softly, struggling to remain calm. "Mom, please, haven't we discussed this before? I asked you to stop with the matchmaking, I can take care of myself." Josh and Michael were grinning. Oh, just until you're not underage, he thought bitterly, shooting them a glare.

"Now, now, Mark, there is no need to get so agitated, I'm only doing it for your own good. Do you remember Jerry? The guy that was in the science club with you in tenth grade? We just got an invitation for the Bris of his third son. Third, Mark."

"Yeah, Mom, I heard you." Man, why wouldn't she just let it go? So what if his childhood friends were all settled? Did that mean he had to be just like them? He was happy with his life the way they were.

"Well, I've already invited the Goldbergs for lunch tomorrow. It would be rude to cancel so last minute."

Shit. He had to think fast. "Mom… I'm sort of seeing someone, in town." He didn't even plan on bringing it up so soon, mostly because there was really nothing to tell. Two dinners were hardly considered as dating. He hated using Maureen as an excuse, but he was desperate.

His mother's demeanor brightened instantly. "Well, you should have brought her here, to meet everyone! Who is she? What does she do? Did you meet her parents? What do they do?"

Double shit. "We've only dated a couple of times. I haven't met her parents yet." He knew better than telling her it was Maureen. He knew exactly what his mother thought of her. She would have loathed Maureen even if she _was_ Jewish. They just didn't click. He still cringed as he thought back of the way both his parent treated her in that first and only dinner the two of them ever had in Scarsdale. And now, it was even worse. He didn't even want to think about his mother's reaction to Maureen's being a single mom, not to mention her marital status.

"At least tell us her name," she insisted, looking at him pleadingly.

"Her name? Uh… I'd really rather not talking about this…" he said, looking desperately at Cindy. Thankfully, she noticed his distress, and started talking about the theme of Natalie's birthday party, only two weeks away.

He leaned back in his seat, relieved but still alert. This was a close one. He ignored Cindy's questioning looks and started talking to Josh, who was sitting next to him.

* * *

The rest of the evening was peaceful enough thanks to Cindy, who kept their mother distracted. Whenever she would start talking about the Goldbergs or whatnot, Cindy started talking about something else. It could have been amusing, if the goal wasn't to save his sorry ass.

They lit Chanukah candles and sang some Chanukah songs. Since he had his camera with him, he filmed around a bit. At some point, his mother and Cindy disappeared in the kitchen. They insisted they didn't need his help with the dishes, so he wandered back to the living room. Cindy's husband and the kids had just started watching a film he had watched the week before, so he excused himself and entered what used to be his father's study. Ah, peace and quiet at last, he thought as he closed the heavy wooden door behind him.

He switched on the light and looked around with a frown. He had never liked being in this room. It always made him feel as if he had been summoned into the principal's office. When he finally had the chance to unpack and organize his own study, he vowed it would never look anything close to this room. Just like his father, the study was cold and gloomy. The huge red-wine drapes that hung on the window completely blocked the light from the outside, making the space impossibly gloomier. The walls were covered with shelves that contained hundreds of books in expensive leather covers. There was a leather couch along one wall, and two chairs near a huge oak desk, where he spotted what he was looking for. He sat with his back to the closed door and reached for the phone.

"Hello?"

He shivered involuntarily. She'd always had that husky, seductive tone when she answered the phone. Unless… He glanced at his watch. It was 10PM. What were you thinking, you jerk? "Shit, did I wake you?"

She laughed softly. "Mark, hey. No, I'm in bed, but I wasn't sleeping." He wasn't sure whether to believe her or not. She sounded worn out. "How was dinner?"

He sighed warily. "Oh, you know. My mom was doing her Yente the Matchmaker routine again. But other than that it was okay, I guess. It's nice to see Cindy and the kids. How was yours?"

"Fine. We went out, which was kind of unplanned, but it stopped snowing, and Libby was bored. It was fun. I took her to Times Square, I've never seen her so gobsmacked before. And we had the best rainbow cupcakes, they were epic." Then she paused, and chuckled. "Yente the Matchmaker?"

"Also known as The Jewish Mother Syndrome. It bothers her I'm still single at my age, so she tries to set me up with nice, Jewish girls from Scarsdale."

"Then make her stop. Find a nice girl and marry her," she reasoned playfully.

"Do you know any nice girls?" he teased, playing along.

"Most likely. When you come to think of it, I probably dated more girls in Manhattan than you ever did."

He laughed darkly, feeling his distress slowly fading away. "Oooh, that one stung, Mo."

There was a brief pause; then she cleared her throat. "Well, actually I do know this one girl, but she isn't Jewish."

He froze, grabbing the phone tighter. Somehow, he got the feeling that she wasn't playing anymore. She didn't mean what he thought she had meant, did she? "You know, it's just my mom with this ridiculous obsession for religion," he said slowly, choosing his words with extra care. "I don't really mind if she's Jewish or not. I couldn't care less, honestly."

"I know. I just keep thinking that she's not good enough for you."

Playfulness was all gone from her tone. His knuckles were getting numb; he was holding the phone so tight. He could sense his heart pounding. What was he supposed to say?

"Libby really misses you, you know," she said all of a sudden, breaking the awkward silence. Suddenly he was breathing more easily. "She didn't stop talking about you the entire evening. She loves that cow ornament you brought her."

"I'm glad," he smiled. Yeah, shifting the focus from the two of them to Libby was a safe ground. He missed her too. "Any chance she's still awake?"

"She was, half an hour ago."

"Damn. I should have called sooner."

"Oh, so I'm not the reason you called here in the first place, Mr. Cohen, is that it?"

"Well, she _is_ younger," he teased her, hoping it would distract him from the seductiveness of her tone.

"Funny," she said, then added, "You should go spend time with your family. Isn't that the reason you went there?"

"Yeah, you're probably right," he reluctantly agreed.

"Call me when you're back in town, okay?"

"I might not wait until then; I'll need to hear a friendly voice after lunch tomorrow. My mom invited this… Oh, forget it. I don't want to keep you awake."

"Good night."

"Bye, I'll call you tomorrow."

"Okay." There was a pause; for a moment he thought she hung up. But then, "Mark?"

"Yeah?"

It felt as if she wanted to tell him something, but instead there was this long silence. He found himself holding his breath. "Never mind. Merry Christmas," she said eventually.

"Merry Christmas," he replied quietly. It took him ages to put the phone back in its cradle, and he kept staring at it even after he did. What was that about?

"Mark?"

He turned abruptly to find Cindy standing on the threshold. "How long have you been standing there?" he asked, suddenly panicked. How much had she heard?

"Just a second or two," she replied. She entered the room and shut the door. Then she sat in the chair opposite to his and eyed him seriously. "What's going on?"

"What do you mean?"

"Who were you talking to so secretly?"

"No one you know," he said, avoiding eye contact. Please let it go, he pleaded with her wordlessly.

"Was it this woman you're seeing? I thought you were making it up to get away from mom."

"Right. I mean, not exactly. I mean, we're not exactly dating, it's… complicated."

"Complicated how?" she asked, and then a gasp escaped her and she stared at him incredulously. "You didn't do something stupid like getting a girl pregnant, did you?"

She was more like their mom than she realized, he thought bitterly. "No, of course not, I would never!" he assured her. "It's nothing like that, Cindy, don't worry."

He knew she'd understand if he told her the truth, but he couldn't bring himself to do so. He wanted to try and resolve things himself first. He was also kind of scared she'd let it slip next to their mother. And then… he didn't even want to think about it. He stood up. "I'm going to bed. Will you be here for lunch tomorrow?"

"Sure. I'd give anything to see you get embarrassed again," she teased him. She stood up as well and pulled him into a hug before he had a chance to protest. "I just hope you know what you're doing, Mark."

"I'll be fine," he assured her. Then he slowly let go, and left the room.

* * *

Once in his old room, he quickly got ready for bed and got under the covers. He knew there was absolutely no way to get away from meeting this Sheila Goldberg the following day. His mother wouldn't let it go, not even after he told her he was seeing someone. Tammy would laugh so hard when she heard about all this, he thought bitterly.

He tossed and turned, but couldn't fall asleep. He heard Cindy and her family when they left. He heard his mother going upstairs. She stopped in front of his door, as if wondering whether or not to check on him, but eventually decided against it as her steps receded down the hall.

Everything went quiet, except for sounds from the street. Every now and again a car would pass by. Two cats were talking to each other in some unfamiliar cat language. God, he hated those nights when he couldn't sleep. He hadn't had one of those in a long while. Usually, it happened when he had too much on his mind. And tonight, it was her voice he couldn't stop thinking about. He couldn't stop trying to interpret what she told him on the phone. Of course, all those confessions and declarations were easier to be made when they weren't facing one another, but did she really mean it? It felt as if she _was_ talking about herself, but what if it was a misunderstanding, and he was making a huge mistake simply because he wanted her back?

Wait a minute… Who said he wanted her back?

Sure, there were millions of times in the past in which he did, when he yearned for her to come back to her senses, for them to get back together, but he thought he was over that time. Especially after she deserted them. Yet somehow now, with her return, it felt as though those years had never existed. Like she had never left, like he had never resented her for leaving. He loved spending time with her. She was her old self, but at the same time she wasn't. And he loved the change she had undergone. And Libby… although he had only known her for several days, he loved that little girl as if she was his own.

_I just keep thinking that she's not good enough for you._

How could she possibly think that? Didn't she know how much she meant to him when they were together? And right now? Of course she was good enough for him, no one else was better! Well, he'd simply have to prove her wrong on that one. And with that resolution in mind, he finally let himself drift into a peaceful, dreamless slumber.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven**

"Never mind. Merry Christmas," she said quietly. Her cell phone felt heavy as she placed it back on the nightstand. She leaned back against the pillows with a sigh, feeling miffed and somewhat defeated. What were you thinking, she scolded herself. Thinking back about what she had meant to tell him made her feel like a complete fool. So she missed him; why was she making such a big deal out of it? They spent a lot of time together in the past few days, it only made sense that she would.

But it was so much more than that. After Libby fell asleep that night beside her, she just sat in bed, staring absentmindedly at the TV screen. She couldn't stop thinking about him. She was about to leave shortly after New Year, and it suddenly dawned on her that they had less than two weeks to spend together. The realization upset her more than she had imagined it would. It went beyond just saying goodbye to an old friend, because it was becoming painfully clear to her that Mark was more than that. And that led to a much scarier realization. She didn't want to be just friends. She wanted to be with him.

While she was sure of her feelings, she knew she shouldn't go ahead of herself, for there was no guarantee he wanted to be with her too. When opportunity presented itself when he called, she tested the water, commenting on something he had said, waiting to see if he bit. But as soon as the exchange turned serious, she lost her nerve, diverting the conversation elsewhere. There was also the fact he meant to kiss her two nights ago, and would have kissed her the previous night if not for Robin's interruption. And she would have let him because to be honest, there was nothing she wanted more. But there was a huge leap between just a kiss and an actual relationship. Despite the implications of his words on the phone earlier, for all she knew he wanted nothing to do with her for the long run, and who would blame him? He said he had forgiven her and she believed him, but there was a difference between absolution and repetition. And knowing Mark, he had probably prided himself on never making the same mistake twice.

How odd was life, she mused. When she dumped him, she did so knowing without a doubt that a person like her could never be with a person like him. She might have been cruel back then, but she wasn't stupid. She knew how much he loved her. In hindsight, her one regret was the way she had ended things. If only she'd been gentler with his heart, maybe it would have been easier for him to get over it. And as life brought them back together, she figured it must be a matter of timing. Maybe she just wasn't ready for him back then. Now she couldn't see anyone else in her future.

Nonetheless, she was realistic. There was no way she could just break it to him, not given their history. She really wasn't good enough for him. And even if he did feel the same, he lived too far away. She thought she could handle a long-distance relationship; she wasn't one to shy away from challenges. But this wasn't just about her, and she had Libby to consider. She wouldn't put her daughter through such an emotional turmoil unnecessarily. And so it would never work. He would never leave New York. He belonged there with every fiber of his being. And she was too settled in San Francisco to even consider relocation. It was just never meant to be.

* * *

With Christmas over, she returned to the familiar routine of meetings and workshops, but she embraced the tediousness of it. It kept her mind away from the mess her life had become in such a short time. She was absorbed in her work, in the need to stay focused and alert, and it kept her occupied, and better yet, distracted. She hardly had time to spend with Libby, which upset her, but she did manage to push forward their flight home and get four days off. Whenever work got too stressful, the anticipation for those four days was enough to keep her smiling for the rest of the day.

Mark didn't call right upon his return as he'd promised, but she was actually okay with it. She needed to stay away from him for a while. She was still filled with doubts about what lay ahead, and she needed to think it through. Then, one afternoon, he texted and asked her and Libby for dinner on New Year Eve at his place. They didn't have other plans, and she thought it could be fun. Libby really wanted to see him again too, and how could she possibly refuse her little girl?

She tried to keep surprise out of her tone as he gave her directions, but the truth was she was impressed. It turned out he lived not too far from their hotel, a walking distance from Central Park. It wasn't the grandeur of the buildings across the park, along 5th Avenue, but it was definitely an upgrade from the shabby loft in Alphabet City. The apartment building was a classic New York brownstone, five stories high. She looked up at the balcony of the top floor, where she knew he'd resided.

Libby's gaze followed hers, her eyes wide with amazement. "He lives _here_?"

"Yeah, it's a pretty building, huh? It looks nothing like ours."

"Ours is taller."

"That's right. Let's go check it out."

As old as the building seemed, it did have an elevator. As she led Libby to Mark's door, she became aware of the irregular thud of her heart, and struggled to keep it steady. As they texted back and forth in the past several days, neither of them mentioned that phone call, or acknowledged the words that had been said. She knew a conversation about it would be inevitable now, but she wasn't entirely sure she was ready for it.

"One second!" She heard Mark's voice in reply to her knock on the door. A moment later there was an echo of footsteps, and a smiling, slightly breathless Mark opened the door for them. "Hey, come on in."

"We brought cake!" Libby informed him enthusiastically as soon as they walked in. While she wasn't great with baking, she'd always treated baked goods with utter respect, and she passed her love for all things cakes and cupcakes on to her daughter as well.

"Here, don't you drop it," she warned Mark as she handed him the package she was holding as if it was an expensive piece of china. "It's Red Velvet."

"When in New York," he said, flashing a crooked grin at her. She stuck her tongue at him, then knelt to help Libby take her coat off. As soon as they were both coat free, he kissed their cheeks in turn, first hers, then Libby's.

As Mark excused himself and went to drop the coats in his study and put the cake in the kitchen, she took the opportunity to look around. He mentioned he had lived there for about three months, but it looked as if he moved in last week. There were boxes everywhere. The living room, where they were standing at the moment, was as spacious as their entire apartment in San Francisco. It opened to the balcony they had seen from outside, but the sliding door that led to it was closed as if to keep out the cold. There was only one photo on the wall, above the TV. She knew it, she realized. He took it years ago, from the roof of the loft. He used to go up there every morning for almost two months, trying to capture the perfect sunrise against the New York skyline. He said he had always wanted to do that, and there was no better place for it than the rooftop. The day he had finally caught it was the day April killed herself.

"Great place you've got here, Mark," she said as he returned. "This runaway style must be a new trend."

He looked around him in dismay. "Can you believe it was worse? I actually started unpacking when I got back from Scarsdale. Not enough time."

"There's never enough time."

"My dad and I never got along, but he was generous with his inheritance. That's the only reason I could afford this apartment in the first place. I was even able to set up my own dark room in here, which is awesome." His eyes wandered to Libby, who seemed a bit distraught. "What's wrong, Libby?"

"You forgot to give Roger a kiss," she stated, dead serious.

He stared at her dumbfounded, with a hint of amusement in his blue eyes. "I'm sorry, who?"

"Roger!" she said, holding her teddybear in front of her for him to see.

"Oh! His name's Roger, huh? That's a very cool name. Was it your mom's idea?" he asked, glaring at her.

"I had nothing to do with this!" She protested, raising her arms in a motion of self-defense. Libby was still looking at him expectantly, and so she smiled at him and nodded towards the bear. "Come on, Marky, give Roger a kiss," she said, and Libby nodded her agreement. He frowned at her slightly, but then knelt beside Libby and gave the bear a quick kiss on his nose.

"There. Is he happy now?"

"Very!" said Libby with a huge smile and threw her arms around Mark's neck. It amazed her to see her daughter behave so trustingly towards a person who was a complete stranger to her not a week earlier.

"Now that we got this issue sorted," he said, standing up, "I hope you're hungry." It was then when she realized that something smelled really good. Did he cook? She must have had that look, because he gave her a look and said, "_Yes_, I can cook, I learned the hard way."

"What, I didn't say anything!" she laughed defensively. "As long as it's not some weird, Polish food – "

"Oh, aren't you a sweetheart," he retorted. She shrugged. One Friday dinner at the Cohen residence was enough. "Will mac and cheese do?"

Was he for real? "That's Libby's favorite. Isn't it, Munchkin?" Libby nodded. "But I'm the master of mac and cheese, Mark, you stand no chance."

"We'll have to see about that someday, won't we?" he said, leading them to the other end of the living room, where a small dining table was already set for three.

* * *

It turned out that Mark's mac and cheese was almost as good as her own. Libby confirmed it, but admitted with a shy smile that Mommy made it better. While she was flattered by her daughter's loyalty to her cooking, she was too unfocused to fully appreciate it. She looked at Mark thoughtfully when he didn't notice. He was so amazing with Libby. They laughed and chatted as if he had known her all her life, and she obviously adored him. _And_ he could cook. But then she gave herself a reality check. It was never meant to be.

After dinner, they moved to the couch and turned on the TV, waiting for the live broadcast from Times Square. It was getting pretty late for Libby, but she stated she wanted to wait for the countdown at midnight, which was three hours away. As Mark went to bring the cake from the fridge, she helped Libby change into her pajamas, which she'd brought with them. It only occurred to her then that she hadn't thought Mark's invitation through. If Libby fell asleep, would it be wise to carry her back to the hotel in the middle of the night? Did Mark expect them to stay over? Was she supposed to bring it up?

"I'll go fetch her a blanket," said Mark as he reemerged with the cake and some plates. "Want some wine?"

"Sure, thanks."

He returned with a blanket which he dropped next to her, and she wrapped it around Libby. He placed a few boxes on the table and excused himself again. She glanced at the labels and chuckled; a Scrabble set and a few ancient puzzles he probably brought from home. When he reappeared, he balanced three glasses in his grip, milk for Libby and red wine for the two of them. He handed her one.

She slipped onto the carpet, leaning against the couch, and pulled an afghan onto her lap. Libby stretched along the couch, snuggling into the blanket. Mark sat across from her on the carpet. He glanced over his shoulder at Libby, who already looked half asleep, staring at the TV with this glazed look in her eyes.

"We can move her to my bed if she falls asleep. There's no bed in the second bedroom, so..." He rolled his eyes at his own incompetence. "You two can take my bed, I'll sleep in my study if worse comes to worse." He reached for the box of Scrabble; he seemed to have a hard time looking at her. Had it just dawned on him too they would have to spend the night?

They began to play; it seemed safer than talking about the things they actually needed to talk about. The wine helped in lighting the atmosphere, and she held onto her glass for dear life. She was losing miserably with each passing round, and she knew it was because her mind wasn't really into it. At some point she glanced at Libby to find her fast asleep, clutching her teddybear. Mark's eyes followed hers. He smiled, then leaned over to tuck the blanket more tightly around her. The smile lingered on his lips when his eyes shifted from Libby to her.

"Want to go outside?" he whispered, nodding towards the balcony. She nodded, and reached for the remote to put the TV on mute. Then they stood up and she followed him outside.

It was eleven thirty, and freezing cold. It seemed wrong to rush inside and fetch her coat, or the afghan she had left on the carpet. She blew into her palms to keep them warm, and hoped Mark wouldn't notice her chattering teeth. The downstairs neighbors were having a party. The sounds of loud music and people's voices were clearly heard against the silence of the night. She squinted into the darkness, idly wondering if he had the view of the park from up there.

"So. Any New Year resolutions?" asked Mark, leaning on the railing next to her.

She sighed. The answer to this question was getting more complicated with each passing year. "To be a better person, I guess. And happier. To be a good mother." Then something occurred to her and she turned to look at him seriously. "There's one more thing, but I kind of need your help for it."

"What is it?" he asked curiously.

"I realized… I didn't have a chance to say goodbye," she said quietly. She didn't say their names, but by the sorrow that now darkened his stare, she knew he understood. "Will you take me to the cemetery before I go home?"

He seemed moved by her request. He slowly nodded. "Of course."

"Maybe you were right to resent me for leaving. I'm sorry you had to go through this on your own, to lose them on your own. I should have been here for you," she whispered, looking away. Tears were stinging in the corners of her eyes, but she refused to cry. It was just that she missed them so much. She should have stayed, she scorned herself. She shouldn't have run away.

"Hey…" he murmured, moving closer and wrapping his arm around her shoulder. "Stop it. It's in the past. You did what you thought was right."

"How come whenever I think I do something right, somehow I mess it all up?"

"Libby was right."

She smiled at him through a veil of tears. Somehow, he did it again. Once again he knew exactly what to say. "You are absolutely amazing, do you know that?"

He returned her smile sheepishly, obviously remembering their conversation at the Life Café. "I didn't do anything."

"Yes, you did. Probably more than you'll even realize," she said, laying her head on his shoulder. At the back of her mind she was aware of the fact they needed talk about that phone call; she should probably initiate it, as she was the one who had stirred the conversation in that direction. But where would she even begin? "I'll really miss you when we go home."

"I'll miss you too. Both of you, actually. You'll have to tell me when is Libby's birthday exactly so I can send her something. She'll be five, right?"

"Yeah. Soon, actually. On February 4th." She felt him tense, and raised her head from his shoulder. He looked stunned, slightly pale even. "What did I say?"

He seemed to have hard time answering her question. "February 4th, almost five years ago… is exactly the day Collins passed away," his voice wasn't higher than a whisper.

She just stared at him as this new information slowly sank in. It was an amazing coincidence, if you believed in that sort of stuff. She meant to say something when the loud voices from the party below became impossibly louder. This meant only one thing. It was almost midnight.

"10-9-8-7…" The people downstairs yelled drunkenly. She and Mark exchanged amused looks. "…3-2-1… _Happy new year!_"

The street exploded with cheers. There was a hustle in the distance, coming from Times Square, she figured. The music downstairs resumed, louder than before. People were singing and laughing and greeting each other. She turned her gaze to Mark and found him looking at her. He smiled and inched closer.

"Happy new year," he whispered, leaning down to kiss her. It was hardly a real kiss; his lips barely fluttered against hers, but for a moment, everything else ceased to exist.

He pulled away shortly afterwards, but didn't move back. By what she had seen in his eyes, she knew that he felt it too. Slowly, hesitantly, she placed her hand against his cheek. His eyes were still locked on her in a gaze so intense, as if he was trying to guess what she would do next.

Well, there was only one thing she could think of doing.

Their next kiss was the answer to all her questions. There was no one to barge in on them, no doubts, no hesitations. His arms tightened around her. Her fingers tangled in his hair as she pulled him closer. Suddenly it wasn't so cold out there on the balcony. Their kisses were fervent, passionate. She couldn't remember the last time someone had kissed her like that, as though she was the only thing in the world that mattered; as though everything made perfect sense. And strangely enough, it did. She figured it all out now.

"You're my something right," she whispered breathlessly as he trailed kisses to her neck.

"You're crazy," he murmured, and for a second she felt frozen with fear she had said too much. She pulled away with difficulty, questioning his say with a look. "Crazy to think you're not good enough for me." He looked at her seriously, then dropped another kiss against her lips. "You're everything."

She was too overwhelmed by her realization, by his words, to even come up with a reply. She touched his bottom lip, hoping he could read everything in her eyes, knowing even that would never be enough. She slipped her hand to the back of his neck, bringing his head down for another kiss. He put his hands on both sides of her face, deepening the kiss, but then pulled away with what felt like reluctance. She looked up at him breathless and slightly confused. Was this the moment he realized what a mistake this was, and turned her down? For a second she believed that he did and felt like the biggest idiot in the world, but soon realized her mistake as he smiled at her and took her hand in his, wordlessly leading her back inside the apartment and down the dark hallway.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Chapter Eight**

He wasn't sure what it was that woke him, but all of a sudden he felt wide awake. A sudden chill ran through him and he rolled on his side as he stretched, instinctively remembering what he would find there. But when he blindly reached out to pull Maureen closer against him, his arm met nothing, brushing against the sheets. What the hell? He opened his eyes a crack to find himself alone in his bed. Once the realization hit him more fully he grabbed his glasses, sat up and looked around the room in confusion. In the pale morning light he noticed his clothes, still scattered all over the floor, but not hers. He looked at the bed again. The pillow next to him seemed creased, a definite evidence to her being there, but where was she? His mind was still a blur from sleep and last night's wine, but he remembered the way the previous night had ended. Only now he thought he must be making it up. Maybe he just wanted to believe it happened, maybe…

Maybe nothing. Maureen had spent the night, and now she was gone.

He entered the ensuite bathroom, feeling miffed. He wasn't at all bitter or disappointed. He wasn't even angry. It was just a strange turn of events. Fleeing in the middle of the night like this, as if the previous night had meant nothing, was something the old Maureen might have done, not this mature version of her he had grown so fond of. She must have had a good reason.

He took a quick shower, threw some clothes on, and made his way into the living room, only to come to a halt at the end of the hallway. There she was, leaning against the sofa Libby was still sleeping on, fast asleep. She had wrapped the afghan around her shoulders. Underneath it she was wearing the jeans she had on the previous night, and a sweatshirt and socks he recognized as his own. It looked as if she had been there a while, and he idly wondered how he'd slept through it. She looked neither warm nor comfortable. Guilt consumed him. What poor sense of hospitality, with him sleeping comfortably in his bed while his guests... But he didn't linger on it now; there were more urgent matters at hand. He approached her as quietly as he could, then knelt beside her and gently placed his hand against her cheek.

Her eyes fluttered open. "Mark," she murmured, looking disoriented.

"Hey," he smiled carefully at her.

She sat up and stretched her neck. He winced, scolding himself yet again. She wrapped the afghan more tightly around her. She glanced at Libby, then shifted her gaze back at him. "What time is it?" she asked in a whisper. He moved a bit backwards so she could stretch her legs.

"Nearly six," he replied. He hesitated, then decided to just ask it. "What are you doing here?" He didn't mean to sound accusing. He just had to know. He had to make sure she didn't regret it.

She leaned closer and ran a hand through his still damp hair. The motion eased his mind somewhat. "I just… wanted to be here when she wakes up." She threw another glance over her shoulder; when she looked at him again, her eyes were serious. "We need to talk about this."

"Wait, isn't it supposed to be my line?" he joked. She grinned sheepishly. It seemed to break the tension a bit. He took her hand in his and gave it a little squeeze. "I'll make some coffee and we'll talk, okay?"

"Yeah. That'll be great."

Still holding her hand, he pulled her into a standing position after him. Smiling, she dropped a kiss on his cheek before disappearing down the hallway, heading towards the bathroom, he figured.

By the time she reemerged, running her hand through her hair to give it some shape, he had the coffee ready, and he handed her a mug before leading the way to his study. He didn't want to risk waking Libby by opening the door to the balcony, and it was warmer in his study anyway. She settled in one corner of the old sofa, raising her knees to her chest. He kept the door half open, a fact she seemed to appreciate, then came to sit beside her.

"I think I remembered how you take your coffee," he said, nodding towards the mug she was hugging between her palms. Back then she liked her coffee strong, with a touch of cream and very little sugar. He hoped that, at least, hadn't changed.

"Thanks. And I stole some of your toothpaste, so thanks for that, too," she said. Then, as if she'd just remembered she was wearing his sweatshirt, she stretched one of the sleeves against her knuckles and flashed a crooked grin at him. He shook his head dismissively. She took a tiny sip of coffee, as if afraid to burn her tongue. She winced, and he all but held his breath until she smiled at him. "That's perfect."

"Phew," he said, smiling sheepishly at her.

"I didn't doubt for a second you'd get it right," she replied softly. Their eyes met; that seemed to be the opportunity she'd been waiting for. "I'm sorry I disappeared. I didn't want Libby to wake up alone and not remember where she was. And I didn't want to risk that if that happened, she'd somehow find her way to your bedroom and walk in on us. You were sleeping so deeply I didn't want to wake you just to tell you that."

He nodded. It made perfect sense. He didn't think he could handle the little girl's enquiries if that happened. If there was one thing he'd learned about Libby so far, it was that she was exactly like her mother; no one could fool her.

"You see, for so long, it has been just the two of us. Ever since I had Libby… Well, you know what it's like. People seem intimidated by the single mom type."

He noticed how she chose to say _people_ rather than _men_, but decided not to dwell on it. It was none of his business anyway, and beside the point. "Their loss," he stated, and was shocked to notice faint blush gracing her cheeks.

"My point is, she's never seen me in a serious relationship with anyone, and this is going to be new to her. I just didn't want her to freak out. Or be traumatized. Or something." She sipped her coffee, then peeked at him over the rim of the mug. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Are you sure about this? I mean, I know you must think that you are, but are you, really? Because I need this to be clear right off the bat, Mark; Libby always comes first, for me. Being with me means being with her. We're sort of a package deal. You can't have one without the other." She shook her head as if embarrassed. "I feel silly to even say this, but I need to know you understand what you're getting yourself into."

"Don't feel silly. You only want what's best for her. I get that."

"No, it's not just that. All I ever wanted was for her to not get hurt because of my stupid mistakes. I don't want her to ever get hurt."

There was darkness in her stare, and he knew she was thinking about Libby's father, about the way her marriage had ended. "I will never hurt either of you. I will never expect you to put anything over her."

"You're welcome to try," she chuckled darkly, and her stare became so fierce he was momentarily intimidated, yet filled with awe. Who ever thought of Maureen Johnson as a protective mom? If someone had suggested it to him all those years ago, he would have probably laughed at that person's face.

"We really need to think this through, though, before I tell her anything." She had that hesitant look. Her eyes were somber, almost desperate, as they met his. "How the hell are we going to do this?"

It was the one question he was constantly asking himself, yet still didn't have the answer. "I can move to San Francisco, I guess," he said tentatively. It would be a tough sacrifice, but he was willing to do it for them. He made himself a fine reputation in the past few years. He could easily find jobs there, maybe open another gallery. It could work.

Maureen shook her head. "No. No, you can't leave New York. Your work is here, and your friends, everything. I don't want you to give up all that." He wasn't used to this new trait of her, of putting everyone else first. Must be a result of motherhood, he mused. "Libby won't start school until next year, so that's not supposed to be an issue. I can't quit my job though."

"I don't want you to quit." From what he had known so far, she loved her job. She was good at it. What gave him the right to expect her to give it up?

There was a bit of silence, as if she was considering the options. He did too. He could go there every weekend, maybe every other weekend if things were really tough. And Maureen and Libby could visit too. It was only several hours away by plane. But he didn't want that sort of life, where they would only be his for several days. He wanted to be with them always.

"Shit," she whispered after a while. "There's no way, is there?"

He couldn't give it up. He _wouldn't_. "We'll figure it out. Don't think about it now," he said, gently taking the mug from her hands. He placed both mugs on a side table, and she scooted closer to him as he wrapped his arms around her. She closed her eyes and lay her head on his chest. As he dropped a kiss into her hair, he heard her sigh and felt her body relax against his. Her heartbeat lulled him to sleep; he felt himself slowly drifting.

"What are you doing?"

His eyes snapped open. He didn't even remember closing them. They were lying on the sofa, Maureen sprawled across his chest. His arms were still wrapped around her. She opened her eyes as well, looking a bit disoriented. Did they fall asleep? He didn't even know how much time had elapsed. They both raised their heads, startled, to look at Libby, who was standing at the entrance to his study, her hair in tangles, eyeing them curiously.

"Your mommy was a bit cold," he improvised, and felt sort of proud as Libby slowly nodded, as if his explanation made sense. "And I guess we fell asleep."

"Come here, Munchkin," said Maureen as they sat up, gently pulling Libby's arm so she would sit in her lap. He scooted to the other end of the sofa so as not to force his presence on them. Maureen smiled at him over her daughter's head as if she understood what he was doing. "Did you sleep okay?"

Libby nodded, cuddling against Maureen. His heart melted. How could anyone resist her?

"So what do you want to do today?" he asked. He didn't want this to end. He wanted to spend as much time with them as he could. Maybe if he did, the answer would come to him. It had to come to him. He didn't want to let them go, ever. Not as soon as he got her back.

"We could go to the zoo in Central Park," offered Maureen, and Libby nodded enthusiastically.

"Okay, and then I'll take you to the best candy store in the world," he promised, already imagining Libby's reaction as she saw those three floors of pure joy. He sniggered at the glimmer in Maureen's eyes. He was already familiar with her sweet tooth; it seemed motherhood only made it worse.

"Sounds like a plan," she said. "But first, breakfast?"

"Breakfast, and then a surprise," he said mysteriously, when the best idea suddenly occurred to him.

* * *

They made blueberry pancakes for breakfast, and afterwards he told them to wait in the living room as he ventured back into his study. He still kept his old film reels, although there was no use in them anymore. Following Collins' death, with Tammy's encouragement and Roger's assistance, he converted everything he had on those reels into video tapes. They sat for hours, watching scenes from their past, people and places they hadn't seen in years. They both cried as the familiar memories flashed on the TV screen. He smiled sadly as he remembered the intense week when they did most of this work. He was glad Roger had the chance to watch it all again before his death. He wished Roger could see Maureen again, and meet Libby, her teddybear with whom he shared a name... He would have loved her.

He grabbed one tape and returned to the living room, where Maureen and Libby were still waiting.

"VHS?" asked Maureen cheekily, cocking an eyebrow as he turned the TV on. "What year is this again?"

"Like I haven't heard that one before," he mock-grumbled as he placed the tape inside the player. Converting the tapes into DVDs was on the top of his list, but as always, life interfered. At least he had a VHS player that still worked; possibly the last one in all Manhattan.

"We're watching a movie?" asked Libby curiously. She sat against Maureen with her teddybear in her lap, and he sat down beside her.

"Not exactly," he replied enigmatically. He could feel Maureen's expectant gaze on him as he pressed Play. It took a second for the picture to clear, and the first shot was of Angel in her Santa coat, doing a little drum show for the camera. He heard Maureen gasp and glanced at her. She didn't remove her eyes from the screen as the scene changed, and it was now Roger with Mimi, on the roof of the loft… Collins in a middle of a wild laughter… Joanne and her sharing one peaceful moment…

"Mommy, who is this woman?" asked Libby.

"She's an old friend of ours. Her name is Joanne," said Maureen. Her voice was soft and distant, as if lost in memory. He wondered if she'd ever tell Libby the truth about the kind of a friend Joanne really was for her.

The scene changed again; zoom in on Roger, who was sitting on their old couch in their loft in his shabby plaid pants and tee shirt. His guitar was in his lap, and he was singing, making seductive faces at the camera in his best rock star attitude. He smirked. It had been a year since he lost his best friend. He missed Roger so much.

Another scene. Collins and Maureen, dragging him trick-or-treating all over the Village in a group costume of _Little Shop of Horrors_. Maureen was the sexiest Audrey he had ever seen, and Collins was the weirdest plant in existence. No one could pull off that green sparkly leotard as well as he did. He could barely look at himself; although looking like Seymour didn't take much effort on his part, his own costume paled next to these two. Roger and April roared with laughter when they –

"Mommy, why are you crying?"

He shifted his attention from the screen to Maureen only to realize that she _was_ crying. Silent tears were streaming down her face. She didn't try to hide them or wipe them away. "Mo? Are you okay?" he asked, concerned.

"Mommy?" asked Libby again. This time she sounded frightened. Her little hands were clutching the fabric of Maureen' sweatshirt. That seemed to snap Maureen back into the here and now. She nodded and gave Libby's hand a reassuring squeeze.

"I'm fine, baby, it's just… I haven't seen those people in a very long time."

"You won't see them again?"

The question seemed to catch her off-guard. Her bottom lip trembled ever so slightly. Somehow, though, she managed to reply. "Not for a while, sweetheart."

He could barely take it. He expected it to be emotional for her. Hell, he was in tears all week after watching it the first time. But he didn't expect her reaction to be so intense. The last thing he wanted to do was upset her. Then again, maybe he should have seen it coming, he thought, suddenly remembering their conversation on the balcony just the previous night, the huge effort she seemed to be making to keep herself together. And now those videos... You idiot, he scolded himself. He grabbed the remote and stopped the tape.

She turned to look at him, surprised. "Why did you stop it?"

"Because you're a mess. I didn't mean – "

"Turn it back on, silly," she laughed through tears. He hesitated for a second, but did as she asked. The next thing was her protest at the lot. The dream, Benny, the mooing, the riot. This time she laughed aloud.

* * *

After deciding to move the visit to the zoo to one of Maureen's days off, they spent a lazy morning at his apartment, and returned to the hotel around noon. It was time for Libby's nap, and Maureen wanted to shower and change before they headed out again. Knowing they would have about two hours to kill, he busied himself by solving a crossword puzzle he had saved from last weekend's paper. He was still working on it when Maureen padded into the living area. She scooted close to him and lay her head against his shoulder. "Do you need help?" she murmured.

He glanced at her. "You hate crossword puzzles."

"I used to," she replied, taking the paper from him. He handed her his pen, and watched her as she filled a few places he had left blank. He didn't try to provide answers even when he thought he knew them. He just enjoyed watching her stare at the page in concentration. The scent of soap that lingered on her skin tickled his nostrils. He couldn't focus on the crossword even if he tried.

"Are you okay?"

He didn't realize he had asked it aloud until she turned to look at him. "What are you talking about?"

"The videos. I mean you looked sort of rattled. I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking."

"We can't undo what happened. They're gone. We might as well enjoy their legacy, and impart it."

"When did you become so smart?" He regretted the question as soon as he'd uttered it. It sounded too blunt; he hoped she wouldn't be offended. But rather, she grinned haughtily at him.

"I told you I'm a keeper," she said, meeting him halfway for a brief kiss. "I'm fine. I promise. And speaking of promises," she added, and there was this naughty spark in her eyes now. "I think you mentioned something about a fabulous candy store this morning?"

* * *

When Libby woke they went out, thinking they could all use the fresh air. He took them to the candy store he'd told them about in the morning and enjoyed the reactions of both mother and daughter to the extraordinary selection. Really, Maureen was just as bad as Libby, so much so that he had to jokingly restrain her several times. She called him a party pooper, but stole a few kisses when Libby wasn't paying attention.

They found an Italian restaurant close to the candy store and shared a pizza for dinner. He was sort of shocked Libby wasn't tired of his presence yet. She seemed to just accept him being there with her and her mother. When she asked about the people in the video they watched, he was amazed with the honesty with which Maureen told her about their friends; it was as if she was talking to a grownup. Pretty soon he found himself taking part of the conversation, and she drank in his every word as if they were fairytales, her eyes never leaving his.

He walked them back to the hotel reluctantly, not wanting the day to end. Now that New Year was behind them, every moment seemed twice as precious – even with Maureen's few days off, they didn't have much time left. Libby asked him to read her a story and he was more than happy to oblige. He could feel Maureen's eyes on him with every page he turned, until eventually she touched his shoulder gently, then nodded towards the bed. At some point Libby had fallen asleep and he didn't even realize.

He placed the book next to her, then tiptoed out of the room after Maureen. She led him to the door, and smiled at him sorrowfully as if she too didn't want to say goodbye. "See you tomorrow?" she asked, reaching out to straighten a crease on his coat.

"Aren't you sick of me yet?" She shook her head no, and her lips curled in a tiny shy smile. "Then yeah, see you tomorrow."

She threw a glance at the dark hallway, then pulled him towards her for a lingering kiss. It suddenly dawned on him this was the thing he had been longing for since he woke up that morning only to find her gone. And judging by the regret he found in her eyes as she slowly pulled away, he knew she had been, too.

"Good night," she whispered, her eyes glimmering with wordless promises in the dim light.

* * *

His cell phone started ringing just as he turned into his street. He smiled as he recognized her number. "Hey," he said uncertainly, suddenly thinking something may be wrong. Why else she would call him? He was just there not thirty minutes ago. "Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, I just realized that I forgot to tell you something."

He smiled. She sounded like Maureen of the old times, random and quirky, calling at the strangest hours to tell him the weirdest things. "What?"

There was a short pause, as if she hesitated, but only for a second. "I love you."

He just stopped dead on his tracks in the middle of the street. The person who was coming in front of him threw him a dirty look as they nearly bumped into one another. He didn't even apologize; he barely noticed. It took only a second for her words to sink in. "I love you too."

"Good night." He could hear the smile in her voice. She hung up before he had a chance to say anything else, but there wasn't really much to say.

Manhattan had had its share of weirdoes in its many years of existence, so the sight of him, skipping all the way home and smiling like an idiot wasn't exceptional. If someone had noticed him, they would probably think he was either drunk, stoned, insane, possibly all of the above. But the truth was that he didn't give a shit. She loved him. That was the only thing that mattered.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Chapter Nine**

The next few days, her final days at work, were hectic, but as her return date was looming closer, she was distracted. Her mind worked overtime trying to come up with a magical solution to their predicament. Every night after Libby fell asleep she lay awake for hours, thinking, weighing her options, the pros and cons, but there seemed to be a dead end to every path, and the future always seemed bleak. And then the previous night, she realized there was no getting away from it. She knew what she would have to do.

She had been staring at the computer screen for good fifteen minutes. Her decision had kept her up until the small hours the night before, and now her head was throbbing and her heart heavy, but her mind was resolute. She didn't think she would regret it... much. Deep down she wished for another possibility, but there seemed to be none, and so she was willing to take one for the team. She would find her way; she always had. Losing Mark on the other hand was not an option, and so she was willing to do what it took. This time, she would make things right.

The phone on her desk rang, putting an abrupt end to her conflicted musings. She picked it up absentmindedly. "Maureen Johnson."

"Maureen, Stan, can you pop into my office for a few minutes?"

She and Stan had pretty much the same job, only his came with much more responsibility as he had several different theaters to oversee. He was legendary in their field, renowned even amongst her San Francisco peers. And meeting him in person was a true gift. She learned so much. She was in awe at his work ethic; it was inspiring. And as he was a busy man, he had always conducted himself in this straight to the point manner, which to the external observer might seem cold and aloof, even snobbish, but she knew better than take offense by his laconic approach.

"Umm, sure, now?"

"Right away please."

"I'm on my way."

That was odd. They adjourned the final meeting of the convention nearly an hour ago, and she wasn't even supposed to be there. She stayed behind to arrange her makeshift office so as not to leave anything behind. She thought they had said everything there was to say. What would Stan want with her that he couldn't say earlier, and why the urgency?

Well, whatever this was about, she'd better not keep him waiting. She looked at the neat pile of paperwork on the desk, making a mental note to return to it later. She glanced at the computer screen with certain apprehension. She sighed, then clicked a button, and the resignation letter she had just composed disappeared inside the Drafts folder.

The atmosphere in the hallways was joyous, festive almost, like a campus at the end of the semester. Several people acknowledged her as she passed by; she waved back. It had been grueling two and a half weeks, but the intensity of it really did bring them all together. She would be sorry to leave them behind. _And not just them_. She pushed the grim thought out of her mind as soon as it settled there, knocking on Stan's door. Don't do this now, she scolded herself.

"Come in!" his voice boomed from inside the office. He raised his head from the paperwork on his desk and flashed a tight smile at her as she walked in. That in itself was unheard of. Rumor had it he barely had time to smile as well. "Maureen, great, thanks for coming so quickly, I feared I'd miss you."

"I needed to get a few things done before I leave." Like penning my resignation letter, she thought bitterly.

"Are you the last one to leave work in San Francisco as well?"

"Pretty much, yeah," she admitted, smiling meekly. "If my daughter grows to resent me about it in her teens, I'll have no one but myself to blame."

He seemed surprised to hear it. "How old is she?"

"Almost five."

"My twin boys are twelve, and they turned out just fine, so I wouldn't worry too much about it." His smile was slightly wider now; it was almost unnerving. "Please," he nodded towards the seat across from his. His gaze was intense, but not in a creepy way that signaled she should be on her guard. She sat down.

"You said it was urgent, is something wrong?"

"Quite the contrary. Something feels extremely right."

"I'm not following."

"There's something I'd like to discuss with you. I probably shouldn't have waited until your very last day with us, but I wanted to be sure I have found the right person."

"Still not following."

He chuckled. "Yeah, I don't make much sense, do I? How about I'll go ahead and just ask it – how would you like to relocate and keep working here?"

* * *

Her hands were still shaking as she left the building an hour or so later, still in a daze. This was unreal. It couldn't be happening to her. If she wasn't so elated by the meaning of the promotion Stan had just offered to her, she would have been terrified by its consequences. As far as her career went, it couldn't get any better than this. Everything else – Mark, staying in Manhattan – was just a bonus. Stan gave her until the next day to consider, but she didn't need to, not really. This was it, the other possibility she'd been yearning for.

But first things first. She had to talk to Libby. As soon as her daughter crossed her mind, she realized her mistake the first time around. It now dawned on her that composing her resignation letter without even consulting with Libby was impulsive at best. That kind of behavior was something her old self was famous for. Now her priorities were changed, and Libby was – as she should be – an integral part of her decision. She would do whatever Libby wanted, she decided.

But as she stormed into the suite, she could tell right away something was off. She halted by the door. Usually by this point Libby would launch herself at her, and she expected it today of all days, her last day at work. But her daughter was nowhere to be seen. Then Robin came to the living area to greet her, her expression grave.

"What's wrong?" she asked before Robin even had a chance to say anything.

"It's Libby." She tried not to panic, but weren't those the two words any parent had dreaded? "She had been acting weird all morning," said Robin. "I didn't want to bother you on your last day at work, so I didn't call."

Her euphoria was beginning to wane. "What do you mean? Weird how?"

Robin led her down the hallway to the second bedroom, where the door was partly open. Libby was sitting on the floor with her back to the door, her teddybear in her lap, absentmindedly leafing through some books.

"Hi, Munchkin," she said. Libby turned to acknowledge her for a moment, then brought her attention back to the book in front of her.

"She's been doing this all morning. She didn't want to go anywhere. She dismissed all of my suggestions, including lunch at Serendipity 3 which you'll agree is unusual. Whenever I tried to ask her what's wrong she just shook her head and ignored me."

She could hear the despair in Robin's voice. Was she afraid to be held responsible for Libby's strange behavior? "I think I should take it from here," she said softly, hoping to sooth the younger woman's worries.

"Do you want me to stay?"

"I might need to pop out for a while later too," she replied, deliberating. It seemed unfair to toy with Robin's time like that.

"How about this, then? I'll pop out to the bookshop, then be back? It will give you some time alone with her."

"That's perfect. I really appreciate it, Robin." Really, the girl was a true gem.

"No problem. See you in a bit."

She waited for the soft click of the front door as it closed behind Robin, then braced herself and entered the bedroom. She sat on the floor next to Libby, never an easy task in her work clothes. Libby didn't even glance at her.

"What's up, Munchkin?" she asked as lightly as she could, although her panic was rising again, increasing by the second. "I was looking forward to hang out with you, but Robin says you're not in the mood. Too bad, because I thought we could go to Alice's Tea Cup and..."

But her voice was soon interrupted by a soft sniffle. Before she knew it, Libby's eyes filled with tears. Her shoulders began to shake as if she could no longer hold back her sobs.

"Baby, what is it? What's wrong?" she asked, holding her daughter close before she managed to wriggle away in protest. She rubbed her back, whispering soothing words in her ear. She felt at a loss. This had never happened before, and she had no idea how to handle it. Hearing Libby cry broke her heart. Not knowing how to help her was even worse; it made her feel so helpless.

"I don't want to go home," Libby managed eventually, between sniffs and hiccups.

Relief surged through her. _This_ was what it was about? This she could handle. At least, she hoped so. Feeling slightly more confident now, she pulled back ever so slightly and tucked Libby's hair behind her ears. She looked a mess. "It's okay, baby," she murmured soothingly. "Stop crying for a second and listen to me, okay?"

Libby's cry gradually ceased, until nothing was left of it but a few whimpers. She looked at her mother, her eyes still glistening with the remainders of tears.

"Good. Now let's go wash your face and then we'll have a talk, okay? There's something I want to tell you."

Libby didn't protest as she scooped her in her arms and carried her to the bathroom. She sat her on the vanity and gently cleaned her up. Libby was docile, and seemed shaken by her own outburst. Once her face was clean, they went to the living area and sat side by side on the sofa. She deliberated, unsure where to start. She had to handle this with care. She needed to do this right.

"Libby, I want to ask you something, baby. But you must think about it really carefully before you give me your answer, okay, sweetheart?"

Libby nodded seriously, as though aware of her responsibility. "Okay, Mommy."

She took a deep breath. Here goes. "If we had the possibility to live in New York instead of going back to San Francisco, do you think you would want that? Because you know that once we move here, we can't change our minds and move back." She spoke slowly, softly, her eyes never leaving her daughter's. "It means that we'll have to give up things we love back home, like that candy store near our building, and the pet store down the street. You know, the one with the cute white bunnies? And you won't be able to play with Grace and Lydia in the park like you do now."

Libby considered this for a moment. "But if we go back, we'll never see Mark again," she said in a small, quivering voice. Her bottom lip began to tremble as her eyes filled with fresh tears.

"He really means so much to you?" Libby nodded. She held her daughter's gaze. "He means a lot to me too, baby."

"Is he your boyfriend, Mommy?"

In other circumstances she would burst into laughter and ask her daughter in mock-outrage where she had learned that, but the conversation was too delicate. "No. But I want him to be." Libby just looked at her, as if taking this in. "You know, at work today, someone offered me a job here. If I took it, we wouldn't have to leave Mark."

Understanding flickered in Libby's eyes. "So we'll stay with him here? And see him every day?"

"Yeah," she smiled at her.

"And I'll have new friends?"

"Loads. I promise."

"And can we live near the candy store Mark took us to? And find a pet store too?" Libby looked at her hopefully. Excitement was beginning to sip into her tone, she noticed with relief.

"I don't know about living near the candy store, baby," she replied, smiling. "But I'm sure there are plenty of pet stores here."

"I'll miss the bunnies," said Libby sorrowfully, but then her face brightened with new hope. "Maybe we could get a bunny of our own?"

She laughed softly. "Maybe. We'll see." She reached for her daughter's hair again; their gazes locked. "So what our decision is going to be, Libby? We're staying?"

She was all but holding her breath until a huge smile replaced the sad expression on Libby's face. She nodded. "We're staying."

* * *

She hurried up Broadway, as fast as her high heeled boots allowed. When Robin returned, she left Libby in her care for a while. Libby was perfectly fine now, chatting endlessly about staying in New York, huge candy stores and cute little white bunnies. Robin was a bit confused by her complete change of attitude, and so she gave her a recap. Inevitably, Robin claimed she had known about Mark and her all along, and was really happy to hear about her job offer.

There was one thing she still had to do. She crossed the street and took her cell phone out of her bag. She could see him through the glass doors of the gallery as she dialed his number. He was talking to a group of people, gesticulating enthusiastically. Then he took his cell out of his pocket and smiled after glancing at the screen. She felt her lips curl in a smile as well as she watched him click a button, accepting her call.

"Hey," he said, moving away from the group.

"Hi." There were quite a few people around, and so she wasn't worried about being discovered as she walked in. He was standing too far away from the door to notice her. "What are you doing?" she asked, keeping a safe distance.

"Working. Where are you? It's noisy."

"Do you think you could sneak out for a bit?" she asked, deliberately ignoring his question.

"Maybe…" She couldn't see his face, but she was sure he was smiling. "What's on your mind, Miss Johnson?"

"Late lunch. Or early dinner. I'm starving," she replied, making her way towards him through the crowd.

"Sure. How soon can you be here?"

"Hmm… give me about five seconds."

"Wow. You're having an affair with Superman or something?"

She hung up and tapped his shoulder. As he turned and stared at her jaw dropped, she smiled sweetly and replied. "Something like that."

It was a moment before a warm smile replaced his puzzled expression. He reached for her hand, lacing their fingers together and pulling her an inch closer. Then he caught sight of her clothes, and his brows furrowed in confusion. "Have you come from work? I thought you had your last meeting this morning."

"That's right. But I needed to pop in there this afternoon for some… unfinished business," she said mysteriously. Her secret was weighing on her, but still she held back. Not just yet. "So are you ready to go?"

"Cohen, you're ditching me again to flirt with other women?" A woman's voice boomed from somewhere behind her. "Just you wait until your mother hears about this!"

She recognized the woman who approached them right away. It was the same woman she spoke to on that very first day she stepped into the gallery, the one who quite literally brought her to Mark. There was a spark of recognition in the woman's eyes as well, as her mock-frown was quickly replaced with a sly, victorious smile.

Mark rolled his eyes, well-familiar with her quirks apparently. "Tammy, this is Maureen Johnson. Mo, this charming woman is my friend Tammy Horowitz."

"Your _best_ friend, Cohen, don't make me look so bad," grumbled Tammy.

"After this impressive entrance, I think I'll have to reconsider your position as my best friend."

"Ha ha," Tammy stuck her tongue at him.

She laughed at their exchange, then shook Tammy's outstretched hand. "It's nice to meet you, Tammy."

Tammy stared at her intently. Weird; for a moment, her expression resembled Collins' perfectly. "Same here," she said eventually, and let out an exaggerated sigh of relief. "Phew! At least I know he wasn't making it up. You _do_ exist. Is it true you dumped him for another woman?"

"Tammy, just shut up," murmured Mark, looking mortified; his cheeks turned pink.

"No way, I waited way too long for this," she retorted, unabashed.

"Well, do you mind being nice for a change and lock up alone here today?"

Tammy turned to her, looking outraged. "See? And he dares to claim he never ditches me!" Then, to Mark, "What is _being nice for a change_ supposed to mean? I'm _always_ nice! If it wasn't for me, this would never have happened!" she said, gesturing at the two of them.

"That's... sort of true," she admitted.

"You better believe it!" rejoiced Tammy. "Now get out of here, you two. It's fine, I'll lock up. Mark, I'll see you tomorrow."

"I'll just get my coat," he told her, looking desperate to get rid of Tammy. He probably feared she would embarrass him again.

"Don't worry, Cohen, I'll keep her company."

"This is exactly what I'm afraid of, Horowitz."

He disappeared before Tammy had a chance to come up with a retort. They stood there in silence for a moment. Then Tammy turned to face her. There was no humor in her eyes this time. "So you came back."

"I did."

Tammy hesitated for a moment, but then looked at her seriously and said, "He's so happy. Please don't hurt him again."

She didn't know how much Tammy had known, but judging from her statement, she guessed that quite a lot. She shook her head. "I won't hurt him. I promise."

Mark was already making his way back towards them, wrapping a scarf around his neck.

"Well, you kids have fun," said Tammy as she shooed them out of the gallery. "Maureen, it was nice meeting you."

"You too," she smiled.

"It's your turn to open tomorrow, Cohen, don't forget."

"Yes, mother," said Mark, rolling his eyes a bit. Tammy blew him a kiss and returned, cackling, into the gallery.

As soon as they were alone, he took her hands in his and kissed them. His eyes glimmered as they met hers. "So where are we going?"

She smiled and inched closer. "How about your place?" she murmured seductively in his ear.

His sharp intake of breath indicated he had been caught off-guard. Blush slowly crept its way up his face. "I thought you said you were starving."

She flashed him a devilish grin and pulled him towards her, kissing him hard. Then she slowly pulled away, keeping her eyes on his, letting them do the talking.

"Oh, I see…" he murmured, holding her by the waist, and leaned in to capture her lips with his once more.

They never made it to dinner that afternoon.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Chapter Ten**

Her head rested on his chest. He ran his fingers through her hair, which made her body relax further against his. He was thinking of absolutely nothing, which was not such a bad thing for a change. He had no idea what time it was, and looking at the digital clock on his bedside meant shifting, which was something he didn't really want to do. He didn't know where his cell phone was; probably in the pocket of the pants he had discarded a while ago. He glanced at the window, but the curtains made it difficult to see outside. It was so quiet he could almost hear her heart beat. He thought she fell asleep, and felt himself slowly drifting as well.

"Will you marry me?"

His eyes snapped open as she uttered those four words. His hand froze against the back of her neck. His heart quickened its pace. "What?" Maybe it was only in his imagination. Maybe he had fallen asleep without realizing it, and this was a dream.

She raised her head, supporting herself on her elbow so she could meet his gaze. Her eyes were earnest, intent, and he knew it was real. "Will you marry me?"

"I… I don't…" he stammered, then stopped before he would further humiliate himself. She was proposing, and he was making a complete fool out of himself. Wait a second… _She_ was proposing? "Are you serious?"

She nodded without looking away. There was a spark of something in her stare; fear, perhaps, that he would reject her? Silence stretched between them, but it wasn't deliberation that was holding him back, but shock. He didn't need to consider it, not really. He already knew his answer. He had known it for days, maybe even years. And now he was just staring at her speechless for being the first to ask it. "You just can't stand to be ordinary, can you?" he teased her eventually, chuckling nervously, in a hopeless attempt to break the tension. He couldn't believe he wasn't the one proposing.

"Don't be so old-fashioned, Mark," she said pouting.

"This is one thing people _should_ be old-fashioned about," he countered.

She chuckling softly, laying one hand on his chest. "How has this turned into an argument? I thought I had it in the bag."

Her hesitation was endearing. He had no idea this was what she had in mind when she had lured him in there earlier. How long had she been planning this? He wasn't even sure what made her ask it now, when they still had no idea how to make this relationship work, when they still hadn't told Libby anything, but he didn't care. He just wanted her. He looked deeply into her eyes. "Ask me again," he pleaded with her.

Her lips curled in a slow, beautiful smile as she crawled up a bit, until her face was just above his. "Mark Cohen, will you marry me?"

He returned her smile. "Yes. I will."

"Good answer," she murmured, leaning down to kiss him.

"Why now?" he asked as they pulled away.

"Because it felt right," she replied, cuddling against him like a satisfied kitten.

He knew better than doubting her instincts, but he had a feeling there was more to it than just that. And she arrived at the gallery straight from work. Something was definitely up. "And…?"

She looked up at him again. "And… what?"

"And what is it you're not telling me?"

"Why do you think I'm not telling you something?" But she couldn't keep up with the act for too long. He gave her a look and she relented. "I was offered a job here. Senior costume manager for two theaters, for a start, possibly more if I do well. It's Broadway, Mark, the real deal." There was a glimmer in her eyes. It appeared she couldn't stop smiling. "I accepted it right before I came to see you. This is why I was at work so late."

"Maureen," he said, overwhelmed with pride for her. He touched her chin affectionately. "That's incredible. Congratulations."

"Thank you."

"Are you sure about this?" He felt more comfortable being the one asking the question. It was much harder being the one having to answer it.

"About working on Broadway? Umm, duh, Mark," she said rolling her eyes a little.

"You know this isn't what I meant," he chided her. "About moving back here. I mean, what about Libby?"

"It turns out Libby fell for you just as hard as I did," she said softly. The words still made his heart skip a beat. The concept of her falling for him, after everything they had been through, was utterly inconceivable. "She wants to stay. It's her choice as much as it is mine."

He shook his head. It was too easy. "When?"

"I still need to finalize everything with my San Francisco colleagues, but around March I think. April at the very latest."

"Will they freak out?"

"They already know, thankfully." She hesitated, then peeked at him sort of shyly. "So shall I start apartment hunting?"

"Have you looked around this apartment? You're more than welcome to move in." He didn't even need to stop and think about it. There was nothing he wanted more.

"I was hoping you'd say that."

"Well, you ruined the fun of proposing, so I'm holding on to what I can," he joked.

"Fun? It was nerve-wrecking."

But he didn't want to argue. He felt so wonderful. He held her by the waist and gently turned them over. He was hovering over her, her hair spilling against the pillows. "I love you," he told her.

"I love you." He could never get enough of hearing her say it. Smiling, he leaned down to kiss her. "I have to go," she murmured, trying to resist him.

"In a minute," he protested, dropping a kiss on her temple instead. "I can come with you," he added, kissing her nose. "I'll take my fiancée and her daughter out for dinner." He pressed his lips to hers, but only for a moment. "Okay?"

She grinned devilishly at him, then wrapped her arms around his neck and adamantly pulled him towards her. "In a minute."

* * *

That evening, after putting Libby to bed, reluctant to say goodbye, they snuggled in front of the Christmas tree Maureen had kept on, and discussed their future plans. Maureen thought he should speak to his mother as soon as possible, much to his dismay. He knew he would have to tell her about Maureen eventually, and that he would have to reveal the fact of their engagement while at it, but he was reluctant to do it so soon. Knowing his mother, though, he knew stalling would be far worse. And so, after two days of moping around about it, he called his mom and invited himself over to dinner. He packed an overnight bag and promised Maureen and Libby he'd be back in time to go to the airport with them. Then, filled with trepidation, he boarded the train for Scarsdale.

He spent the ride thinking of the morning he had spent at his lawyer's office. He had read a bit online about the procedure of adoption, but he wanted more in-depth insight, and so he had set the meeting. Now he was looking through the forms and leaflets his lawyer had given him, terrified and yet happy with the distraction. He didn't tell Maureen about his plans. He wanted it to be a surprise. It made perfect sense to him. Once he was married to her, he'd be Libby's father anyway, so why not make it official?

He willed the train to go slower, but knew it was a childish notion. As much as he was dreading his imminent arrival, Maureen was right. He had to do this. Knowing his mother, he knew exactly what to expect. But maybe, just maybe, she would surprise him. Maybe she would be happy he had finally found someone he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. Maybe she would give him her blessing. It would certainly be an interesting conversation starter. _Mom, I've got good news and bad news. The good news is that I'm finally getting married. The bad news? Well, remember that girl who once dumped me for another woman...?_

And then, there was no stalling it. The train pulled into the station, and he had nowhere to hide. He swallowed his fear and hailed a taxi. Before he had a chance to blink, it came to a halt in front of his mother's house. He was tempted to just tell the driver to make a U-turn and return to the train station, but then decided to man up, paid him and got out before he regretted it.

He strode to the back door with more determination that he actually felt. "Hi, I'm here!" he called in feign cheerfulness, stepping into the warm kitchen.

His mother was there, as he'd expected. She had just taken something out of the oven. His mom was an amazing cook. He remembered missing this when he was living in the East Village, hungry, jobless and frozen. Later on he had learned a few useful tricks from her.

"Mark! Finally!" she exclaimed, rushing towards him, and gave him a huge, crushing hug. "Just in time for dinner. And I told Cindy you were coming, she said she might join us too!" Knowing that Cindy might be there made him feel somewhat relieved. He needed all the support he could get. "Here, try one of these," she said, all but pushing a tray of recently-baked rolls under his nose. They smelt amazing. He took one, suddenly realizing he hardly ate anything all day. He watched his mother as she set the table.

"Do you need any help, Mom?"

"Don't speak with your mouth full, honey."

Like he was five, he thought frowning. "Sorry."

"You don't call anymore," she commented, supposedly matter-of-factly, but he knew that accusing look.

"I'm working, Mom. The holiday season is always crazy, you know that." Every year it was the same old tune. He stopped feeling guilty years ago. He was too distracted to feel guilty at the moment.

"I'll be dead and gone and you won't even know because you never call."

He sighed; not with guilt, but with frustration. "I was just here last week. Besides, when I _do_ you call every day, you tell me off and say it's annoying."

"Of course it is! I can take care of myself just fine! I'm not as old as you think!"

He held back another moan of frustration. He had never said anything right. Or maybe it was because she was changing her mind in the speed of light, he wasn't sure. "Mom, I didn't mean to say you were old… Come on, sit down, I want to talk to you before Cindy gets here," he put aside the half eaten roll so he could take the plates and cutlery from her hands. He was so nervous; his hands were actually shaking. He turned his back on her so she wouldn't notice.

"Talk to me? About what?" she asked, sitting down. Her eyes never left his. She looked curious, almost despite herself.

Giving up on setting the table, he placed the plates aside and set across from her. He looked at her seriously. "I'm getting married – " he started, but soon, expected enough, was cut off.

"_What_? Mark… my precious baby boy… finally _married_? Mazel Tov!" There were tears of joy in her eyes. Then something seemed to occur to her, and the happiness in her expression shifted into concern. "I thought you weren't seeing this woman for long. You didn't even meet her parents, I didn't meet her, aren't you rushing – "

"Mom, Mom, slow down!" he cut her off, laughing at her enthusiasm; mostly because he knew it would be short-lived. "I'll tell you everything, okay? Just let me talk and _please_ wait until I'm finished. I promise I won't leave things unexplained." He peeked at her. She looked at him intently, but said nothing, as if trying to do as she was asked. Great start, he encouraged himself. Now just get on with it. But then it was as if he had forgotten how to speak. Goddamnit.

As if his distress was evident, she flashed an encouraging smile at him. "You can start by telling me her name."

He nodded, but it was another moment before he managed even that. "Maureen Johnson."

He thought she didn't hear him at first, or that the name from his past didn't ring a bell, for he got absolutely no comment. But then he let his eyes meet hers, and found them wide with astonishment. Her jaw was set. As her face paled, her expression darkened considerably. She obviously hadn't forgotten, or forgiven.

"You mean to tell me that you, my smart, sensible son, is going to marry this… this urban Shiksa?" she exploded. He had expected it, obviously, but he hoped he'd be able to say more before it happened. He braced himself and let her vent. "I thought you understood your father and I were right all along about the likes of her! I thought you finally realized that when she dumped you! Smartest thing she's ever done, I bet. Of what gutter has she resurfaced all of a sudden, I would like to know? And what makes you think a decade made any difference? A slut always stays one!"

He was utterly stunned that such a nasty speech came from someone who had just told him not to speak with his mouth full, but his fury was too great to even dwell on that. "_The likes of her_? What is that supposed to mean? You know nothing about her!" The rise of his own tone made him cringe. He didn't want to yell. He wanted to have a quiet, civilized conversation. He wanted to make her change her mind about Maureen. Who was he kidding?

"I know enough," she replied coldly, narrowing her eyes. There was no regret in them. "Will you at least tell me how your paths came to cross again? I thought she was out of your life for good."

He tried to ignore the malice in her tone. "She's in town on business. I met her by accident, in my gallery. Mom, you must give her another chance. She's better, she has changed."

"Oh, has she? Has her religion changed too, by any chance?"

"That's what it's all about? That she isn't Jewish?"

"It's a part of it."

"Why is this so damn important? Roger wasn't Jewish, you know, and you never seemed to have a problem with that."

"You didn't marry Roger!" She sighed in desperation, then eyed him suspiciously. "I wonder what she did to convince you to take her back. I'm sure she has matured into an even more manipulative devil than she was before, so it must have been easy. And you just fell into her trap once again."

His patience was waning in light of her cruelness. He could barely stand it. "Look, nothing of what you say will make me change my mind. I'm going to marry Maureen, I'm going to adopt her daughter, and – "

He watched her face drain of all color, and realized his slip. Shit.

"Her daughter?" she echoed, horror clearly reflected in her eyes. He slowly nodded, feeling defeated. He didn't plan on telling her about Libby, at least not until she changed her mind about Maureen. Peeking at her face, it was evident he had just given her a winning card. "You see, it only proves my point. Where is this child's father?"

"This is none of your business!" Yes, he was being rude, but he didn't care anymore. She went out of her way to be rude.

"If you think I'll let this slut and her bastard daughter into this house, into this family, you're sorely mistaken." Her voice was quiet, but her tone resolute and ice cold.

"The mistake was coming here and trying to change your mind," he retorted just as coldly, standing up. He'd had enough. He could barely look at her. His eyes were stinging; it took him a moment to realize they were tears. He turned his back on her, not wishing to give her something else to complain about, blindly looking for his backpack. In his urgency to leave he nearly bumped into Cindy, who was about to knock on the door.

"Mark! You're early! It's good to see you, little brother!" she said cheerfully, pulling him towards her. He didn't hug her back; fury was all-consuming. And as if she felt his body stiff against her, she slowly released her grip and searched his eyes. If she noticed the tears in them, she didn't comment on it. She glanced over her shoulder at their mother, who was still sitting at the table, whimpering and murmuring things under her breath. "What's wrong? Aren't you staying for dinner?" she asked him, looking back at him with utter confusion.

"I lost my appetite," he said curtly, then moved passed her and stormed out of the house.

He didn't feel like waiting for a taxi; he just wanted to get away. And so, he started walking in the general direction of the train station. Night had fallen at some point of his brief visit. The air was crisp, but he embraced it. It cleared his mind considerably. He hoped the brisk walk would help in pulling himself together, but he could still hear her reproach echoing through his head. How could she say all those things? Couldn't she at least pretend she was happy for him?

There was a hiss of a car, then headlights. He glanced at the road and saw his sister wave at him from behind the wheel. He sighed as she stopped next to him and rolled down her window. "What do you want, Cindy?"

"Get in, I'll drop you at the station."

He meant to protest, but didn't feel like arguing with someone else today. Plus, it _was_ rather cold and a thirty minute walk, if not more. He did as she asked, and busied himself in buckling the seatbelt to avoid eye contact. It was warm inside the car; in his hazy state of mind it felt stuffy rather than comforting.

"Mom told me," Cindy started hesitantly, focusing on the road ahead.

"Did she send you after me to put some reason in my head?" he asked sardonically. Nothing would surprise him at this point. "Because if that's the case, you're wasting your time."

"Mark…" his sister sighed. "Even if that were the case, you're an adult. It doesn't matter what I say, you'll end up making your own choices, your own mistakes."

"Marrying her is not a mistake!" he cut her off abruptly, his tone rising again.

"I didn't say that it was." Cindy didn't seem the least intimidated by his outburst. Her tone remained calm; as though she was speaking to one of her kids.

"I wish she would just listen," he said sadly. "She didn't even try to understand."

"You know Mom. You know what she's like when someone tries to hurt us. And Maureen hurt you. Maybe you're too head over heels in love with her right now to remember, but you were a wreck because of her for a really long time."

He remembered how fiercely protective Maureen had turned at the thought of Libby being hurt. There was some irony in the similarity between his mother and the woman she had loathed. "Cindy, I'm not stupid. Of course I remember. But Mom is being unfair. She's judging her according to past mistakes, according to false first impression, according to her _religion_, for God's sake. Back then she had a point, but people change."

There was a pause, as though his sister needed to take this in. Then she cleared her throat, and he guessed the question before she had even asked it. "She said something about a daughter?"

"Being a single mother is not a crime. And Libby... she's just incredible, Cindy," he ended quietly. At least with Cindy he could reason.

"How old is she?"

"She'll be five in February," he replied, suddenly noticing they had stopped moving. Cindy had pulled into an empty parking space in front of the brightly lit station. She seemed in no hurry to say goodbye. He considered it a positive sign. He took a deep steadying breath, then looked at his older sister. "Look, Cindy, I don't expect you to support me or anything, just… don't judge them before you know them. Don't take Mom's side."

"Mark, I've never intended to take Mom's side. I know you. If you think she's the one, who am I to argue?" she smiled fondly at him. Her gaze wandered from him to her right hand. He watched her as she looked at it thoughtfully, then took off one of her rings. "Here," she said, taking both his hands and placing the ring delicately between them.

He opened his palms to take a closer look. It was a beautiful ring, its gems sparkling as they caught the lights from the station. The ring looked antique, and also kind of familiar. He looked from the ring to Cindy. "What's this?"

"It was grandma Ida's. I am the eldest, so I got it when Dan and I got married. Now I'm giving it to you, for Maureen." She flashed him a grin. "Not your typical engagement ring, I conquer, but nothing about the two of you is typical either."

He felt that sting again; new tears in the corners of his eyes. You're _not_ going to cry, you loser! Weird, for a moment it felt as if Roger was there in the car with them, telling him that. The thought alone brought a smile to his lips.

"I've never met Maureen, but I hope you deserve each other. You've got my blessing."

He stared at Cindy for the longest time, completely at a loss of words. He slid the ring onto one of his fingers so he wouldn't lose it, and pulled her into a hug. "Thank you, Cindy."

"You're welcome." Slowly pulling away, she smiled at him encouragingly. "And Mazel Tov." She kissed his cheek and lovingly messed with his hair. He murmured a quick goodbye before rushing into the station, still overwhelmed with emotion.

* * *

He made his way to Maureen's hotel as soon as he arrived back in town. He just didn't feel like going home. Although his conversation with Cindy lifted his spirits somewhat, his mother's last promise, or threat, echoed mercilessly in his mind throughout the ride back into the city. _If you think I'll let this slut and her bastard daughter into this house, into this family, you're sorely mistaken._

He was so consumed by his own thoughts that it didn't even occur to him it was rather late, and that he'd better text to make sure Maureen was even awake. He knocked softly on the door, all but holding his breath. Luckily there was a shuffle on feet on the other end. Maureen opened the door. She was wearing a white terry-cloth robe that had the logo of the hotel embroidered on its breast pocket in scarlet and gold. Her hair was damp, streaming down her shoulders. It didn't seem he had woken her up, thankfully. She seemed surprised to find him on her doorstep.

"Mark! What are you doing here?" she pulled him inside and closed the door. When she turned to face him again, she had that naughty glint in her eyes. "If I knew you were coming I wouldn't have packed my black lacy nighty."

He was too distracted to even crack a smile at her suggestive innuendo. She took one step towards him, humor all gone from her eyes. She eyed him with concern. "Hey… is everything okay?"

He didn't have the energy to reply. He felt so drained all of a sudden. He buried his head in her chest, and she instinctively wrapped her arms around his head, soothingly running her fingers through his hair. He breathed in her scent. She smelled of soap and cleanliness. There was something so comforting about it. He just wanted to hold her.

"It didn't go so well, did it?" she asked gently, slowly pulling away, making him face her.

"It was awful, worse than I thought." He looked at her hesitantly. "Is it okay if I spend the night? I really don't feel like being home alone."

She didn't even hesitate like he feared she would. "Sure. I was packing until half an hour ago, so Libby's asleep in the second bedroom. I don't think you'll fit into any of my tee shirts though."

He forced a smile at her attempted joke, not wishing to worry her further. He showed her his overnight bag. "I was supposed to spend the night at Scarsdale, remember?"

"Was it that bad?" she asked, leading the way down the hallway. The door to the second bedroom where Libby was sleeping wasn't shut all the way. He resisted the urge to peek inside. He followed Maureen inside the main bedroom, and watched her as she shut the door, again only halfway.

"It was bad. I don't want to talk about it." He'd die before he told her everything his mother said about her.

"Okay," she nodded, and moved closer. Slowly, gently, she helped him out of his clothes. He just stood there, in the middle of the room, letting her tend to him as if he were a child. His exhaustion was overwhelming. She reached for his backpack and handed him his sweatpants. "Did you eat? I only have some leftover cheesecake here, but..."

"I grabbed a hotdog on the way here. It's fine. Let's just go to bed, okay?"

She looked as if she wanted to say more, but then thought better of it. "Okay," she said, pressing a soothing kiss to his lips.

He found his toothbrush in his bag, and went to brush his teeth. He washed his face, hoping to leave behind any trace of tears. By the time he returned, she had already changed out of the robe into shorts and a long-sleeved tee shirt. Wordlessly, she nodded towards the bed; she'd already thrown back the covers. He lay back, sinking into the pillows with relief. She took off his glasses and placed them on his bedside. Then she turned off the lights and snuggled closer against him. He wrapped his arms around her and closed his eyes. His thoughts drifted back to his grandmother's ring, which was now in his wallet. He'd give it to her tomorrow, he decided. Right before they'd leave.

As he finally drifted into slumber, he felt slightly more reassured. They would be okay. They'd be happy together, with or without his mother's blessing. Cindy didn't have to worry. They did deserve each other.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Chapter Eleven**

"_Mark!_" Thump.

What the hell?

She opened her eyes slowly; it was a moment before the room came into focus. For a moment, she forgot where she was. It had been days since she had slept so soundly. She rolled on her side to the other side of the bed. Turned out she was right; Libby really did jump onto the bed once she had detected Mark sleeping there. He was rubbing his eyes now in the aftermath of the attack. He put on his glasses and leaned against the bed board, looking as disoriented as she felt. It was evident he wasn't used to having his slumber disrupted by an overly enthusiastic kid.

"Munchkin, how did you get here?" she asked, yawning, looking inquiringly at her daughter who somehow got herself under the covers and between the two of them. She pulled Libby closer and let her fingers fly across her stomach underneath her pajama top.

"No, Mommy, stop it!" squealed Libby, trying to wriggle free.

As soon as she stopped, Libby snuggled against her. She dropped a kiss into her daughter's hair, then nuzzled the back of her neck, and just held her close for a moment. This was their routine every Sunday at home. Libby would climb into her bed and they would just lie there, under the covers, and just hold one another before it was time to get up. "Did you sleep okay, baby?"

Libby nodded, and looked at Mark, who was watching them with an amused expression on his face. "Did _you_ sleep okay?" she asked him, imitating her mother's question.

"Yeah, I slept great," he replied, smiling but still a bit tired-looking.

She threw him a playful look and then grinned at Libby. "He still looks kind of sleepy to me, Munchkin," she said thoughtfully. "Maybe we should tickle him a little bit too, huh?"

"_No_!" Mark all but launched himself out of bed. He chuckled softly. "Don't, I'm awake."

"Are you excited to go home today, baby?"

"Kind of," replied Libby, frowning a little. "Why do we have to leave if we said we're staying, Mommy?"

"Because we need to pack all of our stuff and send it over here. It's only for a little while."

Just thinking of everything that needed done was enough to make her dizzy. She would have to inform their landlord they were moving out, pack everything, sell her car. But at least as far as her job went, she knew she was in good hands, and that Stan would do all he could to make it easier on her. And she was grateful because to be quite honest, the concept of leaving behind everything safe and familiar was daunting. She wondered where was the gutsy girl who just left without looking back all those years ago. She almost envied her; not her motives, but that numbness with which she seemed to operate.

"Can't you come with us?" Libby looked hopefully at Mark, who shook his head sadly.

"I can't, sweetheart. But I'll be right here when you get back," he promised her.

Their gazes locked over Libby's head, and he nodded reassuringly. He refused to tell her what transpired during the conversation with his mother, but it wasn't that hard to guess. He looked wrecked when he arrived unannounced the previous night; she was pretty sure he had cried, but didn't dare asking him about it. It wasn't that big of a surprise, because she remembered all too well the way both his parents had treated her during the one and only time Mark had taken her to meet them. An accident waiting to happen was one way to put it. She didn't expect Mark's mother to change her tune simply because her husband had passed away. But she didn't want to distant Mark from his family; not because of her. It wasn't right.

"Mo?" She blinked, realizing her thoughts were drifting. She looked up at Mark, a little unfocused. He smirked. "Maybe it is _you_ we need to tickle, don't you think, Libby?" he asked, winking at Libby. They exchanged this menacing grin that under different circumstances would have been adorable.

"That's clever, turning my own daughter against me," she mock-frowned at him. Inside, though, her heart was breaking. She was going to miss him so much. But she refused to fall apart so early in the day. There would be plenty of time for that later. "Libby, I put your clothes on the chair in your room last night. Go wash your face and brush your teeth and I'll be there in a second to help you get dressed, okay?"

"Okay, Mommy," said Libby, then jumped out of bed.

She waited for her daughter's step to recede down the hallway before she turned her attention to Mark. His blonde hair was even more tousled than usual. He looked adorable. It felt so strange to wake up beside him, so familiar and yet so new at the same time. She climbed onto his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck, smiling. "Hi, you."

"Good morning," he replied. He flashed a crooked grin at her. There was this naughty glimmer in his eyes. "Does that mean you won't avenge me for turning Libby against you?"

"I blame myself. I let you spend the night."

"Thanks for that, by the way. You must admit it beats the alternative."

"Not sneaking out of bed in the middle of the night, you mean?"

"That's exactly what I mean, yes."

"It does have its benefits," she asserted, grazing her fingers against the back of his neck.

"Just my point," he whispered, their lips meeting halfway in a kiss.

"We'd better not," she breathed, trying to resist him. He was persistent; she kissed him back almost despite herself. His fingers began to wander underneath her tee shirt. "Don't even think about it."

"Why?" She pulled away with difficulty. He was grinning mischievously at her, his cheeks flushed. He leaned closer again for another kiss.

"Mommy!"

"That's why," she said, moving away from him, now with much more resolve. "I'll go help her. You're welcome to take a shower if you want."

"Yeah. A very _cold_ shower."

She flashed him an apologetic smile as she climbed off his lap. "You're cute when you're grumbling." She sat on the bed next to him and reached for his hand, looking into his eyes. "Do you feel better?"

A shadow darkened the blue in his eyes. He seemed conflicted; for a moment she was sure he would cave and tell her what happened the previous night. But then, a second later, it was gone. "Yeah. I do feel better." They sat there a moment longer, just holding hands. Then he gave her hand a small, reluctant squeeze. "I'm fine. Go help her."

She nodded a bit distractedly, not wishing to leave his side.

* * *

After checking out, she and Mark left Libby at Robin's place despite her teary protest. Their flight departed in the early afternoon, and there was still something she needed to get done. It was actually kind of appropriate to end her stay in Manhattan with that, the very reason she had left it in the first place. It was the closure she didn't know she had needed. In spite of his earlier promise, Mark was reluctant to take her there at first, as if he didn't want her stay to end with a sour note, but she insisted. She had to do this. And so they took a taxi and rode out of town to the cemetery.

Luckily, the weather was bearable. It wasn't snowing or raining, just unbelievably cold. She snuggled into her coat as she followed Mark silently along a trail he seemed to know well. They spoke little on the way there. She found she was nervous, filled with this strange mixture of anticipation, sadness and dread. But she finally had the answer to her wondering. Despite all the good it had done her, her new life and her thriving career and Libby, trying to detach herself from the past was useless. She could never escape it, no matter how hard she tried. It was always there to haunt her, one way or another.

"Here we are," Mark's soft voice interrupted her musing and she realized they had stopped walking. She raised her eyes to face them; a silent line for tombstones that once were her friends. They were buried side by side; Angel and Collins, Roger and Mimi. She knelt on the grass in front of Collins' tombstone and looked at it for a long moment. Seeing her daughter's date of birth engraved into the stone sent a chill down her spine. She thought how amazing it was, that at the same day Libby came into the world, Collins left it. And she didn't have a chance to tell him how much he'd meant to her, because she took off. He would never know; none of them would ever know.

She sat more comfortably in front of her friends' graves, her gaze wandering from one tombstone to the other, and suddenly she got this terrifying feeling, as if she was being watched. As if they were all looking at her, into her, blaming her for not being there when they needed her the most, for choosing the easy way out and leaving all of them behind. Sort of like the expression on Mark's face in the first moments of their reunion. Guilt was overwhelming, paralyzing almost.

As if her distress was visible, Mark gently pulled her into a hug. She lay her head against his shoulder and let out a shaky sigh. "Don't," he pleaded softly. "They would have been so proud of you if they knew her, I know they would."

"But they'll never know that I – "

"They do know," he cut her off, tenderly yet persistently. "You're here now."

For the longest time, there was silence. They just sat there, holding one another. The wind was rustling softly through the treetops. It was almost inevitable to get carried away by memories. April's funeral, the trauma of losing her so abruptly, the aftermath of her suicide. Angel was next, and while in April's case they were all too numb by the suddenness of her death to actually feel the pain, when Angel died they got their first taste of real, searing grief. Then Mimi's rapid decline… and nothing seemed fair in the world anymore. Nothing made sense. They were all so young…

Mark gently took her hand and interlaced his fingers with hers. She smiled, only to frown a second later. Something felt a bit off. Something hard and cool replaced the softness of his hand. Confused, she looked down at their joined hands, and a gasp escaped her. What the hell? How did he even... She shifted her gaze to Mark, who smiled sheepishly.

"Well, since I can't even propose properly, I'm trying to save my dignity the best I can," he joked, glancing at the graves for a second. "Come on, don't tell me you don't feel Roger and Collins right here, laughing their asses off because I'm making a fool out of myself."

She laughed softly. Weird, but for a brief moment she actually _could_ feel it. She looked at the ring he slipped onto her finger when she hadn't noticed; a tear-shaped ruby surrounded by tiny black diamonds, set in white gold. It was beautiful, a perfect fit. "Where did you get it?"

"It was my grandmother's. Cindy got it when she got married. Yesterday, she gave it to me, for you."

She was touched almost to the point of tears by Cindy's gesture, but she refused to inflict more damage on an already fragile situation. She had to ask it. "And what did your mother have to say about your sister giving this piece of family heirloom to your disagreeable fiancée?"

Mark didn't flinch underneath the seriousness in her eyes. "I don't think she knows. Even if she does, I don't care."

"You won't be able to keep it a secret forever. You know that sooner or later you'll have to tell me what happened there yesterday, don't you?" she asked him as gently as she could. She didn't want to put pressure on him, but he seemed so troubled, almost traumatized, by the previous night's occurrences, that she had to know.

"I know. I'll tell you, I promise. Just… not today," he said, tightening his embrace. "I just hope you don't change your mind as soon as you get home."

She chuckled. "If you're chickening out, let me tell you, it's too late. I won't change my mind. I'll marry you whether you like it or not, Mark Cohen."

He grinned, then looked at the graves again and back at her with the slightest frown. "Yeah. Now I can definitely hear them laughing."

* * *

The silence on the way to the airport was a sad yet comfortable one. None of them spoke, not even Libby, who was sitting between the two of them in the taxi, clinging to Mark's side and hugging her teddybear close. It broke her heart to see her little girl so down. She twisted her new ring on her finger absentmindedly, drawing comfort from its presence.

Mark waited with them as they checked in and sent away their luggage. Her steps became gradually heavier, knowing that each step took him further away from them. She held on to Libby's hand; the last thing she wanted was losing her in the crowded airport. Mark stayed with them as far as the security checks; he couldn't follow beyond that point.

"So this is it," he said with feign cheerfulness, although he was fooling no one. Even Libby saw right through it. He reached for her hand and gently pulled her towards him, holding her close. "Call me when you get home. I don't care what time it is. Don't worry about waking me. Just let me know you're okay."

She nodded. She was too upset to start arguing about it. "I will," she promised.

"Maybe I'll be able to come over next weekend or something."

"That will be great." Unable to say more without bursting into tears, she just looked at him for a moment. Who would have thought that all this would happen from a simple business trip to Manhattan? She touched his cheek, holding back with all her might. "I'll miss you so much."

"I'll miss you too." He looked down at Libby. "Both of you," he said, kneeling down beside her. Her eyes glistened with tears, but she didn't cry. "It was so lovely to meet you, Libby. You'll be a good girl, right? And take care of Mommy?"

Libby nodded seriously. "I will."

He smiled at her. "Good. Now come here, give me a hug," he said, outstretching his arms. Libby stepped into them and wrapped her little arms around his neck as he gave her a big hug. As he slowly pulled away, there was this unmistakable moisture around his eyes as well.

Libby hesitated, then reached for her teddybear and held it out for Mark. "Will you keep him until we come back?"

She stared at her daughter in disbelief. Ever since she got it for her birthday, Libby and Roger were inseparable. The bear went everywhere with her. Once they forgot it on a bench in the park, and she had to go back there in the middle of the most terrifying thunder storm to get it back because Libby wouldn't sleep without it. And now she wanted to leave it here with Mark?

"Baby, are you sure? We won't be able to fly back to get him if you change your mind."

Libby looked at her teddybear as though she was considering it, and eventually nodded. "Yes, I want Mark to keep it."

Mark seemed to understand the enormity of the request, for he gave Libby a reassuring nod and said seriously, "Of course, Libby. I'll keep him. Roger will be safe with me, don't worry. Both of us will be here to welcome you when you return."

"Promise?" she asked, still a bit uncertain, clutching the teddybear close to her chest.

Mark smiled, emotional behind his brave facade. "You bet."

Still she hesitated, but only for a second. Then she kissed the teddybear's forehead. "Bye, Roger. Mark promised to take care of you. Be good, okay?"

A smile found its way to her lips as she watched Libby, who was passing her favorite bear to Mark. There was nothing but trust in her daughter's eyes as Mark stood up, and Roger was out of her reach. And not even a hint of regret.

"You should go," said Mark. She toyed with the idea of missing the flight altogether, already coming up with endless excuses why she cannot attend the next day's meeting at work. Mark shook his head as if he guessed what was on her mind. He pulled her to his arms again.

"I love you," she whispered into his ear.

She felt him smile against her cheek. He placed a kiss on the top of her head. "I love you too. Go, you'll miss your flight," he added gently, handing her her purse.

She lingered a moment longer, but then, knowing she had no choice, she took it from him and made sure Libby was still carrying her backpack. They shared one last smile before she guided Libby towards Security. She willed herself to not look back; if she did she would never go on that plane. But as they turned the corner, Libby suddenly turned back.

"Bye, Mark!" she called, waving at him. He smiled and waved back, holding her teddybear close to his heart. Their eyes met for the last time, but there were no tears this time. Just silent hope.

"Love you," he mouthed.

"Me too," she mouthed back, smiling. She looked down at Libby. "Come on, baby. We gotta go."

* * *

Once on the plane, she helped Libby fasten her seatbelt. She adjusted her own seatbelt next and leaned back, closing her eyes. The Captain's voice was heard through the speakers as he gave a brief weather report and the expected landing time, but she hardly listened to him. Her thoughts wandered back to the cemetery. Would they ever know how much they meant to her? Mark said they did, and she could only hope he was right. She touched her engagement ring, a slow smile curling on her lips. She missed him already. She thought it was funny, the way life worked. Within two weeks her life was completely altered, the past she had tried so hard to escape suddenly becoming her future.

She opened her eyes as she felt Libby's soft little hand touching hers. "Don't cry, Mommy," her daughter told her seriously. "It's only for a little while."

She touched her cheek, suddenly feeling the dampness of tears. "I know, Munchkin," she replied with a small smile. She squeezed Libby's hand. "Will you be okay without Roger?"

"I'll be okay, Mommy."

Soon the engines roared as the plane started its slow ascent. Shortly afterwards, it was in the air. They were on their way home. She glanced at the window. Dusk slowly fell, and Manhattan became a fading jewel in the distance as the plane carried them higher, and further away. Soon Libby was asleep, and before she knew it, she was slowly drifting into slumber as well. Libby's comforting words echoed in her mind. _It's only for a little while_. They'd be back before they realized it. And when they did, Mark would be there. Everything would be okay.

In her sleep, she was smiling.

**The End**


End file.
